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DRAWING-ROOM PLAYS 



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HE CHARM 



AND OTHER DRAWING-ROOM PLAYS 



WALTER BESANT 
AND WALTER /pOLLOCK 




WITH 50 ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY CHRIS HAMMOND AND A. JULE GOODMAN 



NEW YORK 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY ^ 

PUBLISHERS ^y ^ ^ (y '"" ^ 



^'' 



Copyright, 1895, 1896 
By sir WALTER BESANT and W. H. POLLOCK 

Copyright, 1896 
By JOHN BRISBEN WALKER 

Copyright, 1897 
By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



PREFACE 

In considering the Drawing-Room Comedy we 
ought to discuss first of all the exigencies of the 
stage on which such Comedy is likely to be played. 
For it may happen to be a small stage. Very few 
drawing-rooms, except those which belong to large 
houses, are able to provide a stage broad enough 
for many characters and for strong situations. 

The stage must not be crowded with personages 
whose movements may be hampered by want of 
space. Again, such a stage may possibly have 
very little depth, which is another reason for keep- 
ing the situations as much as possible quiet and 
free from overmuch movement. 

Next as regards the scenery. It must be con- 
sidered that while a room, a hall, or a simple out- 
side view may be easily represented, very little 
more can be attempted, and as a general rule there 
must be very little or no change of scenery. 

We have thus arrived at certain definite Ijrnita- 



vi PREFACE 

tions. The actors must not be too many, thus im- 
peding each other's movements ; therefore the 
situations must be comparatively simple ; while 
the scene must be one that is easily indicated. 
This simplicity does not necessarily prejudice the 
effect, as was shown in the case of Sir Henry 
Irving, then Mr. Irving, who gave TJie Merchant 
of Venice at Harvard College with nothing but 
the Shakespearian backing of curtains. The 
performance was a great success. 

As regards the period, costume is always of the 
greatest importance in the case of the amateur as 
in that of the professional. In the eight plays pre- 
sented here, three belong to a period before the 
present century. Of the remaining five, while two 
must belong to the present time, the other three 
may, with one or two slight alterations that can 
be left to the actors, be put into the eighteenth 
century. 

As regards the plot of a drawing-room play, we 
venture to think that it should present a story quite 
clear and intelligible, a story that is capable of 
grasping and holding an audience, without calling 
for those deeper emotions which might be out of 
place in the drawing-room and might possibly prove 
to be beyond the power of the players. We have 
endeavoured, therefore, to make the dialogue simply 



PREFACE vii 

fit for the occasion, relying always on the interest 
of the story rather than on epigram and so-called 
* smartness.' 

We desire especially to dwell upon one point, 
at first sight small, but really of great importance. 
It is, that all these plays have been written without 
reference to this or that particular actor or actress. 
It is, therefore, not only open to the stage manager, 
but it will also be easy for him, to alter the 
dialogue so as to suit members of the company, to 
write up certain scenes where these members are 
strong, and to compress others where they may be 
weak. Thus an actor or actress may thoroughly 
comprehend the gist of a speech, but may find its 
phraseology for some reason or other unsuited to 
his or her method. In this case the stage manager 
may, without difficulty, alter the words. In the same 
way a song, a dance, or any additional ' business ' 
that suggests itself may be introduced, so long as it 
is not out of keeping with the conduct of the fable. 

In four of these pieces there is introduced a song, 
or a little snatch of song. In one, at least, of the 
others, a song might be introduced with advantage. 

The authors of these pieces will be very much 
gratified if the plays are found on trial to suit the 
purpose for which they were designed. 

One of them — The Spy — may seem to cross the 
rule we have laid down, that the plot should not 



viil PREFACE 

be * violent.' It is here inserted in the hope that 
the exception may prove the rule. 

As regards the plots of these plays, two are 
derived from short stories already published by 
one of the authors. The rest are original. 

W. B. 
W. P. 



CONTENTS 



PAGB 

The Charm •..«.« t . t i 
The Voice of Love .. ••••!.• 65 
Peer and Heiress . . • • • • • .99 

Loved I not Honour More 135 

The Shrinking Shoe , . . . . . .171 

The Glove , 200 

The Spy 226 

The Wife's Confession , , 252 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 

The Charm i^ 

Enter Marquis • . . iit^ 

' Bring BACK OUR BEAUTY ! ' i8.' 

*Let me, Madame la Duchesse, recall one inci- 
dent OF THAT YEAR ' 26 

* Let us be philosophers ' 32 

The Marquis and Chevalier Kneel .... 37^ 

' Were two men ever so abused ? ' . . . . 44 1^ 

Duchesse follows, angrily . . . . . 53 

* What have I done ? ' 61 > 

They are old again 63. 

*She is awakened' 65 

* My dear child, you have every qualification 

FOR THE part' 67 u- 

*The apple blossoms were out' 69 

*What do you think OF it, fair Juliet?' . . 73 
He takes a fiddle and goes through a few steps 

WITH HER . . 79 . 

•Oh, daddy, it frightens me — I shall never be 

ABLE TO DO ALL THAT' 8l 

'Pray forgive this intrusion, sir* . . . . 85^, 

* Look at this horrid poster ' 9x5^ 

Kneels and kisses her hand 93 i,- 

Sinks into a chair . . , , . . .98: 

Peer and Heiress . . , • , • • • 99 



xH ILLUSTRATIONS 



I 

FAGS. 



Enter, by the window, Philip Ainslie and James 

SeVENOKE 102 

She is sitting at the piano. He stands over her 107 

Kisses the paper 110^ 

* Eleanor Ingress! we have been deceived!'. . 115 /j 
'Eleanor a millionaire?' 119, 

♦I MUST shake hands, Mr. SeVENOKE ' . . .121-^ 

* Mamie! If it isn't Mamie ! * . . . . . i2y v 

*NOT IN THE OPEN HALL, Mr. SeVENOKE, IF YOU 

please' 131 v/ 

'If it pleases my lord' 133 u 

Loved I not Honour More! . . . . .135, 

«Yes, sleeping like an infant' 137 

•It is very — ^VERY serious. Let me look at you ' . 142^^ 

She stops, confused, and turns her head . . 146 <- 

* Unknown, unremembered ' 149 1/ 

Enter Vigors, answering 152: 

* Forty thousand pounds ! Oh ! It is a miracle ' . 157^ 

*I AM sorry for you. BUT— NO ' 163^^ 

*lT IS ONLY A note' 1681- 

'Loved we not honour more!' . . , . . 169'.' 

The Shrinking Shoe 171 1 

'This was the waltz 1 liked the best' . , . 173 
Puts on slipper with ease . . . . . .181.' 

Reads aloud 186/ 

'See how tarnished and faded it is!' . , , 196 x 

The Glove 200 

He raises her hand and kisses it ... . 207. - 

'Here they come — the Colonel and his iosse ' . 212 

' A glove ! A gentleman's glove ! ' . . . . 216 -^ 

* God Save the King ' , , 224 




DRAMATIS rERSON.-E 



Gaston, Marquis de Montserrat. 
Bernard, Chevalier de Saint -Aignan. 
Raoul, Vidame de Chatillon Cursay. 
The Baron Aldebaran. 
Colin, Valet. 

Isabelle, Princesse de Chalons. 
H^LfeNE, Duchesse de Perigord. 
Jeannette, Lady's-maid to the Duchesse. 
Place - Paris. Time - Eighteenth Century. 

ACT I 
Scene — The salon of the DucHEssE DE Perigord. 
Decoration^ Louis Quinze style. Portraits on 
walls. A card- table at back. A harpsicJiord, 
cJiairs, and sofa. 

Colin, in livery, and jEANNETTE, with a duster, 
discovered. 

COLIN {sighs) 
How are we this evening, Jeannette? 



2 THE CHARM [ACT 

JEAN, {sighs) 
Pretty well. We rang our bell at ten. We 
called for our tisane at a quarter past. We had a 
little soup and a glass of wine at twelve. We went 
out to take the air at three. We dined off the 
wing of a chicken and an omelette. We are now 
dressing for the evening. And you, Colin ? 

COLIN 
We rose at noon, after a cup of chocolate. We 
were completely dressed by two. We were then 
wheeled to the Gardens of the Luxembourg. We 
came home, and read a chapter from a Regency 
novel. What a time, Jeannette, was the Regency 
for a young fellow with a leg ! We made a toler- 
able dinner, and we are now on our way, in a chair, 
to the salon of our beloved Duchesse. Here I await 
the chair's arrival, because old age sometimes suffers 
from such a forced march and has to be readjusted. 

JEAN. 

What lifelong devotion, Colin ! What a 
lesson of constancy to young men — like yourself! 

COLIN 
What severity, Jeannette ! What a warning to 
young women — like yourself I 



I] THE CHARM 3 

JEAN. 
Yet every woman would like sixty years' 
devotion. 

COLIN 
Sixty-five, you may say. Yet what man, at 
the outset, would dare to go on if he knew that 
there were sixty-five years of patience before him ? 

JEAN. 

You young men are so .impatient. 

COLIN 

Fortunately, young women nowadays are not 
so cruel. 

JEAN. 
Sixty-five years of courtship ! 

COLIN 
Hush, Jeannette ! Bad luck to count Perhaps 
time has forgotten us. 

JEAN, {sighs) 
Scarcely — for we age daily. 

[ With slight indication of aged walk, 

COLIN {sighs) 
Indeed, we do walk more feebly. 

\They go through pant oinime of aged people 
meeting, bowing, taking snuff, 6'c, 
E 2 



4 THE CHARM [ACT 

JEAN. 

And, alas ! we smile seldom ; except, indeed, 
with an effort, in the salon 

COLIN 
Yes, in the salon — there only can we forget 
the ravages of time. Ah, Jeannette 1 

JEAN. 

Ah, Colin ! 

COLIN 
You are distractingly pretty this morning. Do 

you know \Edges closer, 

JEAN. 
Fie, Colin ! 

COLIN 
Youth, Jeannette — youth, I say {puts his arm 
round her waist) youth is the time for 

JEAN. 
For beginning the devotion of a lifetime, which 
may, perhaps, be rewarded 

COLIN 
After sixty-five years? No, Jeannette, it is 

thus and thus 

\Tries to kiss her. She ifushes him from her. 
Door opens. 



I] THE CHARM 5 

Enter Raoul. COLiN runs away, 

JEAN, {hurriedly) 
i Yes, M. Raoul, Madame will be here immedi- 
ately. I will tell her that you are here. 

RAOUL 
Do not hurry her, child. So {chucks her under 
the chin) Colin was imitating the manners of his 
masters, was he ? 

JEAN. 

To be sure, M. Raoul ; we cannot always be 
with our betters without learning something. 

RAOUL 
And what have you learned, Jeannette ? 

JEAN. 

To reward my lovers, M. Raoul {edging away), 
after sixty-five years of service. [Exit Jean. 

RAOUL 
Ah ! well ! I suppose love was different in the 
days of the Regent. Sixty-five years' service ! The 
charming ladies on the walls do not look as if they 
would demand all that time ; perhaps some were 
content with forty years, some with twenty, and 
some with even a week. {Goes round, looking at the 
portraits^ Here is a portrait of the Duchesse her- 
self. A beautiful woman in those days — not quite 



6 THE CHARM [act 

in modern taste. But this is the woman who made 
a slave of my grandfather. The young fellows of 
that time certainly had their consolations. (^Still C 
goes round) Here is the Princesse in her young 
days. One might look farther and fare worse. And 
here are the young bloods — the Regent himself. 
Why, this was the very room where he had many 
a supper with La Parabere and the rest. And to 
think that in this very salon the old, old people 
meet every night to talk over the past and forget 
the present ! Poor old folk ! They say age comes 
to all. Perhaps. Meantime, one is young. 

Enter the DuCHESSE, on Jeannette's arm 

{Hastening to offer his own) Madame, permit 
me. 

DUCHESSE 
Thanks, Raoul — my son, Raoul, since we have 
agreed that I may call you by that sweet name. 

RAOUL 
Madame, your kindness overpowers me. 

DUCHESSE 
My own son is — long since — Jeannette, my 
snuffbox {takes snuff) — long since — Ha ! — yes — 
dead. I was vexed, I remember, at the time. You 
are singularly like your grandfather, Raoul. 



[J THE CHARM 7 

RAOUL 
You knew him when he was young ; but of 
, course that was long before your time. 

DUCHESSE 
No, boy ; that was in my time. Women have 
but one time. When that is over they have no 
other ; and when one is eighty, one can, alack ! 
no longer be beautiful. 

RAOUL 
Madame can never cease to be both beautiful 
and charming. 

DUCHESSE 
Your manners, Raoul, resemble your grand- 
father's. You have something of his finished 
style. 

RAOUL 
I am honoured, Madame, with this approba- 
tion. 

DUCHESSE 

Enjoy your youth, my son. Lay to heart the 
admonition of an old woman. 

RAOUL 
Ah ! never, never old — to her friends. 

DUCHESSE 
Yes {resolutely)^ eighty-two. Do you hear ?-— 



8 THE CHARM [act 

eighty- two years old. Jeannette, my snuff-box J 

{Takes snuff ^ I was saying Yes, Raoul, enjoy 

your youth. 

RAOUL 
I do. What else is there to enjoy ? 



I 



DUCHESSE 

Do not waste it. Make love to the mosi 
beautiful women only ; frequent none but the best 
society ; avoid gambling, duels, orgies, coarse 
pleasures. Remember that a beautiful old age — a 
time of serene satisfaction — can only be obtained 
by the most careful conduct of youth. Ah ! what 
pleasures we have lost ! What possibilities do the 
young idly throw away ! Be wise in time, dear 
Raoul. 

RAOUL 

I will, dear Madame. Meantime, I am in love 
with half the ladies of fashion, and only just out 
of love with the other half. I have as yet fought 
only six duels, and I gamble no more than a 
gentleman should. 

DUCHESSE 
And do not drink too much wine, dear child. 
Why, but for his champagne at supper the Regent, 
the best and most generous of men, might have 
been living until now. 



I] THE CHARM 9 

RAOUL 
When he would be about a hundred and ten. 
We might have grown a little tired of Philippe. 
What a delightful invention is champagne 1 



DUCHESSE 
Your grandfather, Raoul, of sainted — I mean, 
of course, not sainted — saintliness is only expected 
of common persons — but of delightful memory, 
was, like the Regent, inordinately addicted to late 
suppers and champagne. 

RAOUL 
And to making love, Madame, I have heard, to 
the most beautiful woman of his time. 



DUCHESSE 
{In confusion). It was true, my child. She 
used him barbarously. She can never forgive 
herself. 

RAOUL 

She accepts, at least {kneels on one knee)^ the 
devotion of the grandson for the love of the grand- 
father. 

DUCHESSE 
Rise, Raoul. Yes, I accept the service of the 



10 THE CHARM [act 

boy— for the— ardour {szghs) of the grandsire. 
Alas ! at that happy time he was your age, Raoul, 
and had your face. What a time ! What men ! 
What manners ! 



COLIN 
M. le Marquis de Montserrat ! 

Enter MARQUIS. He is an old man, who walks 
with a cane and leans upon the arm of COLIN. 
Ceremonious salutations. MARQUIS kisses 
DUCHESSE'S hands. RaOUL bows. 

MARQUIS 
Young man, you are fortunate. Had the 
Duchesse been as kind to me some time ago as she 
now is to you — I — but (takes snuff ) — let us be philo- 
sophers. 

COLIN 
M. le Chevalier de Saint-Aignan ! 

Enter the CHEVALIER. He also is a very old man. 

CHEVALIER 
Duchesse, your servant. {Bends with difficulty 
to kiss her hands.) You are — I need not ask — 
always well and — and — and youthful. 



THE CHARM il 

DUCHESSE 

No, Chevalier (takes snuff), not youthful. 




ENTER MARQUIS 
COLIN 

Madame la Princesse de Chalons. 

[Princesse {an old lady made-up young, and 
sprightly) kisses DuCHESSE, gives hand to 
gentlemen, sits down exhausted, and coughs. 



! 



12 THE CHARM [act 

DUCHESSE 
And now, Raoul, for your budget of news. 

\They all sit round, while Raoul stands in 
the middle and talks. 
RAOUL 

I have but little. The Due d'Argenson is to 
marry the daughter of the Marquis de Carabas. 

PRINCESSE I 

We know that. Your news, M. Raoul, is a 
week old. 

RAOUL 
The people are starving in Auvergne. 

MARQUIS 

{Takes snuff). The ill-conditioned people ol 
Auvergne are always starving. 

RAOUL 
The rustics in Picardy are in revolt 

CHEVALIER 
Shoot them down ! ( Takes snuff.) That is how, 
in my time, we treated revolt. Shoot and hang. 
It is the only remedy for the common people. 

RAOUL 

The Court goes next week to Versailles. 



i( 



I] THE CHARM 13 

PRINCESSE 
Ah ! the Court interests us so little now. We 
who can remember think of the old Court — the 
glories of the Regency. 

MARQUIS 
There, at least, was no Madame Dubarry. 

PRINCESSE 
And you have no scandal to tell us ? 



RAOUL 
None this evening. An Ambassador is expected 
from China. The King's cooks are collecting 
birds' nests, in order that he may be entertained 
with the national dish. 



MARQUIS 

China is a long way off. 

DUCHESSE 

Yes ; I prefer to hear of Paris. 

RAOUL 
It is reported that our fleet has been destroyed 
by the English off the port of Brest. 



14 THE CHARM [act 

CHEVALIER 
In my time we destroyed the English fleets. 
Ventre St. Gris ! Where are our captains ? 

MARQUIS 
They were used up in the process. 

DUCHESSE 
And nothing of Paris ? 

RAOUL 
Nothing. Stay ! There is the Baron Alde- 
baran. 

PRINCESSE 
Who is the Baron Al-de-ba-ran ? Is it an 
Italian name ? 

CHEVALIER 
You are talking of the quack who promises 

MARQUIS 
You mean the charlatan who pretends 

DUCHESSE 
What does he promise, Raoul ? 

RAOUL 
He is a man of middle age, who pretends to be 
five hundred years old. He told me a great many 



i: 



I] THE CHARM 15 

anecdotes ; for instance, about my great-great- 
grandfather, who was Marshal of France and a 
friend of Henri Quatre. He also says he knows 
how to cure all diseases, prolong life, and — the 
usual things. 

DUCHESSE 
This becomes interesting. Pray go on, Raoul. 

RAOUL 
Of course I do not believe a word he says. 
Still, I have seen him cure a cripple, who carried 
away his crutches ; and he makes people fall asleep 
by merely waving his hand — that I have myselt 
witnessed. 

MARQUIS 
These impostors appear in every generation. 
One of them, called the Count Von Nurnberg, 
was about the Court fifty years ago. 



RAOUL 
The Baron Aldebaran says it was himself. 

CHEVALIER 
Another was at Malta sixty years ago. The 
Grand Master clapped him into prison, and we 
were going to burn him. Unluckily, he escaped. 



i6 THE CHARM [act 

RAOUL 
Aldebaran told us the story. He says he 
remembers your putting him in prison. 

DUCHESSE 
The Baron has bewitched you, dear son. We 
are, however, too old for these fancies. 

MARQUIS 
The Duchesse can never be too old. 

DUCHESSE 
Oh, Marquis ! ^ 

PRINCESSE 
And that is all you have to tell us, M. Raoul ? 

RAOUL 

That is my budget, Madame la Princesse. 

DUCHESSE 
Then, dear son, we will keep you no longer 
from your own world. Youth is the time for 
enjoyment. 

PRINCESSE 

Alas ! yes. There is no other time for happi- 
ness. 

DUCHESSE 
Go, then, Raoul ! Make love, laugh, sing. Leave 
us to our cards — and our memories. {Exit Raoul. 



I] THE CHARM 17 

PRINCESSE {absently) 
Restore our youth ? If that were possible ! 

\Meantime COLIN arranges card-tables 
and cards ; places chairs. 

CHEVALIER 
And such a youth as yours, dear Princesse ! 
Yet with you beauty is immortal. 

COLIN 
The cards are ready, Madame. 

DUCHESSE 
Come, then. 

[They rise. Gentlemen lead ladies. Sit 
down. Marq\]1'S deals. They play. 

PRINCESSE 
Ah ! I have made a mistake. Chevalier, 
pardon me. 

DUCHESSE 
I have revoked. Partner, 1 am playing shock- 
ingly. 

PRINCESSE (holding her cards so that everybody 
can see them) 
Restore our youth ! Strange if it could, after 
all, be done. 

C 



THE CHARM 



[act 



DUCHESSE {letting her cards fall upon the table) 
Bring back our beauty ! My dear, if that were 
possible ! 

CHEVALIER 
We waste precious time in idle dreams. 
Princesse, you show your hand. 




« BRING BACK OUR BEAUTY ! ' 
MARQUIS 

Duchesse, you have dropped your cards. 



DUCHESSE {rising) 
I cannot play to-night. I am agitated. 



I] THE CHARM 19 

MARQUIS 
Dear Duchesse, may I bring you a glass of 
wine? [Duchesse shakes her head. 

PRINCESSE 

We can play no more. Let us sit and talk of 
old days — the days when we were young — all 
young together. 

DUCHESSE 

When we loved and were loved. 

CHEVALIER 

When we made love, and danced, and fought. 

MARQUIS 
The days of suppers and gallantry, when — when 
- Duchesse — you remember that evening ? 

[CHEVALIER and MARQUIS both rise. 

DUCHESSE 
'Twas in this very room. 

[Duchesse and Marquis walk up stage, 

CHEVALIER 
Isabelle, you remember that morning 

PRINCESSE 
When I drove you home after supper here. 
The sun had just risen when you made that 

c 2 



20 THE CHARM [act 

impudent declaration. Oh, Bernard ! you looked 
so handsome. 



CHEVALIER 

And you, Isabelle, so bewitching. 

PRINCESSE 
Can a woman — a young woman -look aught 
but bewitching when the man she loves is at her 
feet? 

[ The Chevalier and Princesse retire up stage, 
DUCHESSE and Marquis coming down, 

DUCHESSE 
Our youth ? Oh, dear Marquis ! the young 
men are not what they were. Where could we 
find so brave and handsome a man as you were 
then? 

MARQUIS 
Where could we find so lovely, so brilliant a 
creature as you were then, Helene ? 

DUCHESSE 
You called me — Helene — on that night — before 
the supper. Gaston, you made me the happiest of 
women. 



I] THE CHARM 2i 

MARQUIS 
And you, Hel^ne the beautiful, made me the 
happiest of men. 

[ The PrincesSE sits before the spinet and plays. 

DUCHESSE 
We danced — in those days, Gaston — no one so 
well as you. 

MARQUIS 
Could any nymph move more divinely than 
! you ? 

I \?'^\'^QYJ^^Y. plays a gavotte. TheMAV^qXilS and 

DuCHESSE dance part of a minuet^ then sit 
down exhausted. 

MARQUIS 
Come! come! let us be philosophers. {Takes 
smtff and shrugs shoulders?) What has been, has 
been — it cannot come again. We live in the present. 
I Let us enjoy the moment. 

CHEVALIER 
We cannot make love — we cannot fight — we 
cannot ride — we cannot dance — we cannot even 
drink ! What is there to enjoy ? 

[Princesse plays^ and sings in a weak^ 
tremulous voice. 



±2 THE CHARM [ACT 

PRINCESSE 
When autumn leaves about the lawns 

And round the trees are drifting high ; 
When frosty nights bring misty dawns, 

Back to past days, back to past days, our 
memories fly. 

When summer loads the breath of June, 
And warm airs lull the lovesick brain. 

And maidens dream through drowsy noon. 

The joys of youth, of vanished youth, come back 
again. 

When April suns light up the hills, 

And young men woo and maidens wait, 

When children wreathe young daffodils, 

Our hopes of spring, of bygone spring, we tell 
too late. 

When to and fro the lovers go, 

When damsels hear with blushing cheek, 

When tabors play at close of day, 

Ah! then of love, of perished love, we sadly 
speak. 

[ While VRlNCESSEjims/iessm^-m^-A'LBEBARA'N 
enters, unseen by any of them. He stands 
in the middle of the rooin ; his dress is 
black. 



I] THE CHARM 23 

ALDEBARAN 
Thank you, Princesse. 

[PRINCESSE shrieks ; they all turn round. 

MARQUIS 
Who is this ? What guest have we the honour 
of receiving ? 

ALDEBARAN 
I am called Aldebaran. 

PRINCESSE 
You are the man who {gasps) — restores health 
to the sick — and— and 

ALDEBARAN 
I am a man who knows the secrets of science. 

CHEVALIER 

Bah ! Your science — what does it do ? You 
sit in your laboratory and make discoveries ; mean- 
time we get old, and in time 

MARQUIS 

I Let us be philosophers. {Takes snuffs We 

^ exist — we cease to exist ; that is all. 

DUCHESSE 

Ah ! Yet, if science could 



24 THE CHARM [act 

ALDEEARAN 

Madame, there are no limits to the power of 
science, believe me — none. Think as much as you 
please, you can think of nothing that science can- 
not do. 

MARQUIS 

These are the usual boasts of the charlatan. 
Perhaps, M. Aldebaran, you will be so good as to 
let the Duchesse know what is your business — if 
you have any ? 

ALDEBARAN J 
I come here uninvited. I have nothing to gain 
— nothing to sell. M. le Marquis, you are, in mind, 
at least, unchanged since the year 1720, when I last 
had the pleasure of meeting you. The same in- 
credulity, the same 

MARQUIS 
You may add, the same unbelief in persons who 
call themselves five hundred years old. 



DUCHESSE 
But, Marquis, if this gentleman can do what he 
promises 

PRINCESSE 

If he can, by his science, perform these 
fpiracles ^ 



f 



I] THE CHARM 25 

ALDEBARAN 

Ladies, you do not remember me. Yet, when 
I saw you last you were young, you were gay, you 
were worshipped. It was in the year 1720. In that 
same year that I had a certain altercation with the 
Marquis, then a fiery young man of five-and-twenty. 
\The Marquis looks closely at hhn. 

MARQUIS 
I seem to recollect you. You are surely the 
same man who then called himself the Count de 
Niirnberg. 

ALDEBARAN 
I did. I was then the Count de Niirnberg, as 
I am now the Baron Aldebaran. 

MARQUIS 

And you were then, as you seem to be now, a 

man of forty or fifty. Yet it is sixty years ago. 

Strange! Well, it matters nothing. Let us be 

philosophers. [ Takes snuff and shrugs shoulders. 

ALDEBARAN 
Let me, Madame la Duchesse, recall one inci- 
dent of that year. It is known only, I believe, to 
yourself and to one other person, who has — well — 
who has ceased to speak. I will, with your per- 
pission, whisper it in your ear. [ Whispers, 



26 THE CHARM 

DUCHESSE {shrieks) 
Is this man a wizard ? 



[ACT 



ALDEBARAN 

There was also, Madame la Princesse, an event 
which took place in that same year connected with 
your own history 




' LET ME, MADAME LA DUCHESSE, RECALL ONE INCIDENT OF 
THAT YEAR.' 

PRINCESSE 
If it is known only to myself and — and a man 
who is no more, I would rather not hear it. 



ALDEBARAN 
Perhaps he is still living. Listen. [ Whispers, 



I] THE CHARM 27 

PRINCESSE 
Ah ! he is a wizard ! My dear Chevalier ! 
{holds out both hands to him). Then it was you, 
after all. I knew it. Oh ! could I show my 
gratitude ! But it is too late — too late ! 

[Aldebaran has whispei^ed CHEVALIER, who 
stares in wonder. 

CHEVALIER 
Yes, Princesse, it was I who did you that small 
service. I have been long repaid by your kindness 
— your friendship 

PRINCESSE 
Say, Chevalier, my love, though it is now too 
late. 

ALDEBARAN 
You see, then, that nothing is impossible. If I, 
who sixty years ago was forty years of age, now 
am still forty, and no more, why should not things 
still stranger happen ? 

DUCHESSE 
Baron, do not raise false hopes. 

PRINCESSE 
But if he can 



28 THE CHARM [act 

DUCHESSE 
Ah ! if he can. 

MARQUIS 

Can he ? 

CHEVALIER 

A man, Marquis, who at five hundred looks 
forty is worth listening to. 

MARQUIS 
The Count — the Baron — will pardon me for 
observing that that has yet to be proved. 

\_Sh7'ugs shoulders and takes snuff. 

ALDEBARAN 
Ladies, I divine your thoughts, I know your 
wishes. You would be once more young, and — 
permit me the word — once more you would be : 
beautiful, and once more see the train of lovers 
following at your steps. 

PRINCESSE 
Duchesse — Helene — friend of my youth ! 

DUCHESSE 
Isabelle ! 

ALDEBARAN 

I can make you young. In five minutes, by 



I] THE CHARM 29 

the waving of my hand, I can make the years run 
backwards — I can restore to you your twenty 
summers. 

PRINCESSE AND DUCHESSE {catching each 
other by the hand) 
Oh! 

ALDEBARAN 
The bloom shall return to your cheeks, the 
lustre to your eyes, the grace to your shape, the 
smile to your lips, the young strength and spring 
to your limbs — you shall be again in the 
splendour of your beauty. 

DUCHESSE AND PRINCESSE 

Oh ! Oh 1 Oh ! 

ALDEBARAN 
You shall again have gallant gentlemen- 
young, handsome, noble — kneeling before you. 

CHEVALIER 

Princesse, if this is true, what am I to do ? 

MARQUIS 

Duchesse, after sixty-five years of devotion, am 
I to see you the prize of another man ? 



30 THE CHARM [act 

PRINCESSE 
Ah, Bernard ! could I be so ungrateful ? 

DUCHESSE 
Gaston, can I ever forget the past ? 

ALDEBARAN 

Be content, gentlemen. These ladies will have 
the honour themselves of communicating to you 
the same wonder. They can make you young 
again, if they please. That is their gift — not 
mine. 

CHEVALIER 

How — how can they do that ? 

MARQUIS 
Calm yourself, my friend. Let us be philo- 
sophers. {Takes snuff?) Nothing can make us 
young again. 

ALDEBARAN 

Yes, these ladies, whom you have loved so 
long, to whom you have devoted the suit and 
service of a life, they can now repay your affec- 
tion. 

ALL 

How } 

ALDEBARAN 

By returning your passion. Yes, by bestowing 



I] THE CHARM 31 

their affections upon you, by returning your love, 
they will restore your youth. 

[ The ladies look at each other in delight. 



DUCHESSE 
Gaston, I love you already ! Yes, in the pre- 
sence of my dear Isabelle, before the Chevalier, 
before this illustrious, this distinguished, this 
generous stranger, I declare that I love you dearly. 

MARQUIS 
Helene, you are, as usual, most amiable. Your 
kindness gratifies and flatters me. Yet — so far — 
I feel no younger. [ Takes snuff. 

PRINCESSE 
Bernard, before Helene and the Marquis I 
swear that there is no other man in the world whom 
I love. Yes, by the memory of all your years of 
patience, by the thought that you have cheered 
my loneliness, made age tolerable, and beguiled 
my sorrows, I swear that I love you truly, deeply, 
with all my heart. 

CHEVALIER {kisses her hands^ 
Isabelle, best and kindest of hearts. But I 
feel — alas ! — no younger — as yet no younger. 



32 THE CHARM [act 

ALDEBARAN 

Patience ! These generous ladies were too 

quick. They spoke before the time in the noble 

eagerness of their gratitude and love. They must 



1 




'LET US BE PHILOSOPHERS.' 



first be young themselves. Then — then, such 
words as these will change your eighty-five years, 
unbelieving Marquis, to twenty-five. 



THE CHARM 33 

MARQUIS 
Let US be philosophers. \Takes snuff. 

[Princesse j-/^j 2« old place at harpsicJiord. 
Stool shifted a little^ so that she is able to 
see Aldebaran. He looks from one to 
the other. They look at each other uneasily 
Then they all four look at him. Signs of 
mesmeric influences. When they are all 
under influence curtain drops, 

ALDEBARAN 
DUCHESSE {seated) PRINCESSE {at the piano) 
MARQUIS CHEVALIER 



34 THE CHARM [act 



ACT II 

{Five minutes later) 

Scene — All as before. 
Aldebaran retreating as he completes the passes. 
He disappears behind portiere^ afid all recover life. 
The ladies are young again. They look about 
them-. They rise. They rush into each other's 
arms. 



Isabella ! 
Helene ! 



duchesse 
princesse 



duchesse 
I SO hoped you would come. It seems an age 
since we met 

PRINCESSE 

Does it not ! But it makes the meeting all the 
pleasanter. What a pretty dress ! And how well 
you look ! 

DUCHESSE 

Thank you, dear ! 



II] THE CHARM 35 

PRINCESSE 
Do tell me who is coming! Will your special 
adorer be here ? 

DUCHESSE 
I do not know. He left me in a huff. But no 
doubt he will come to his senses again. A certain 
Vicomte is to come, and will, of course, devote 
himself to you all the evening. 

PRINCESSE 
If I allow him to, which I very much doubt. 
He is too impetuous. 

[Marquis and Chevalier are gazing 
in wonder and admiration. 

chevalier {impetuously) 
It is our turn ! Quick ! Quick ! I want to feel 
once more the bounding pulse of youth. 

MARQUIS {inore slowly) 
He said— come, let us be philosophers — {takes 

snuff) — he said that a word from them They 

are young again — they are as I remember them 

CHEVALIER {falling on his knees) 
Isabelle ! divine Isabelle ! you are indeed once 
more what you were sixty years ago. Incompar^ 
able woman ! repeat the promise of your love. 

D2 



36 THE CHARM [act 

MARQUIS (^falling slozvly on his knees) 
Helene ! lovely Helene ! Helene of Troy! Queen 
of beauty ! my memory recalls those charms, yet 

ten times as fair as when Oh ! Helene, tell me 

once again that you love me ! 

\The girls look in amazement. Then they look 
at each other. Then they laugh, but gently, 
their faces behind their fans. 

DUCHESSE 
Love you, dear sir ? Here is some strange 
delusion. Love you ? Have you mistaken the 
house? Tell me once again. Isabelle, my dear, 
do you know this old gentleman, who asks me, 
leaning on his crutch, to love him ? Sir, why 
should I love you ? 

MARQUIS (rising aside) 
To be sure, why ? I had not thought of that. 

CHEVALIER {rising) 
You, at least, Isabelle, are true to an old adorer. 
You love me still ? 

PRINCESSE 
Love you, sir ? Repeat the promise of my love ? 
Are you dreaming ? H61ene, did you ever hear so 
absurd a request? I am sure so venerable, so 
respectable a gentleman as yourself would not, in 
his right senses, put such a question to a lady the 



THE CHARM 



Z7 



very first time he saw her. Sir, what answer can 
you expect ? 

[DUCHESSE ^/^^Princesse go up stage, latigh- 
ing. The gentlemen look at each other. 

CHEVALIER 

They have thrown us over ! Ventre St. 
Gris ! Could we believe it possible ? Oh, woman ! 




THE MARQUIS AND CHEVALIER KNEEL 

woman ! after sixty-five years ot courtship ! 
She recovers her youth, and laughs at me because 

I am old. Why, five minutes ago Marquis, 

are we mad ? Are we dreaming ? 

MARQUIS 
At my time of life I am not surprised at any- 
thing. {Takes snuffs Kneeling tries a man with 



38 THE CHARM [act 

sciatica. Yet this is a disappointment which 

Come, Chevalier, be a philosopher. {Offers snuff- 
box.) After all, women are uncertain. 

CHEVALIER 

I will not endure it. [ Walks about 

MARQUIS 
Then, my dear friend, let me ask what you 
propose to do ? 

CHEVALIER 1 

I will — I will ! Yet, what can I do .^ i 

MARQUIS 
Nothing. You see, Chevalier, we have for- 
gotten, most unfortunately, an important, an ^3 
essential fact. »i 

CHEVALIER 

That is Oh! who could believe it? i 

What fact ? 

MARQUIS 
How should they remember us ? The young 
have no more memory than kittens. 

CHEVALIER 
I will remind her of my long devotion. I will 
tell her what I have done. I will move her heart 
by the tale of a lifelong love. 



THE CHARM 39 

MARQUIS 
Consult the glass, Chevalier. Look at the 
wrinkles in your face, the stoop in your shoulders, 
the stoop in your knees. Where is the elastic 
spring of youth ? Are you, as you were, young and 
handsome ? Come {snuff-box)^ let us be philo- 
sophers. [ The ladies come down. 

CHEVALIER {to PRINCESSE) 
Pardon, Madame. 

PRINCESSE 
Mademoiselle, if you please. Monsieur. 

CHEVALIER {disconcerted) 
I beg pardon, Madame — I mean Mademoiselle. 
Will you permit me to relate to you a story — a 
little story } 

PRINCESSE 
A fairy-story 1 

DUCHESSE 
A ghost story t 

CHEVALIER 
A story {tragically). It is of two most faithful 
and most unfortunate lovers. 

PRINCESSE 
Pray proceed — if it is a short story. 



40 THE CHARM [act 

CHEVALIER 

No ; it is a long one. It is sixty-five years 
long. 

DUCHESSE 
Sixty-five years long ? Then, let us wait till 
we have had our ball. 

MARQUIS 

It will take less time to tell, I think. But, 
ladies, you do not know my friend. Permit me to 
introduce to you M. Bernard de Saint-Aignan, 
Chevalier of Malta. 

DUCHESSE 
I have heard my grandmother speak of you, sir. 
I am honoured in making your acquaintance. 

CHEVALIER 

Permit me, ladies, in my turn, to present my 
friend the Marquis de Montserrat. 

PRINCESSE 
M. le Marquis was, I believe, a friend of my 
grandmother's. Sir, I desire your friendship. 



MARQUIS 
Now, Chevalier, your story. 



II] THE CHARM 41 

CHEVALIER 
Sixty-five years ago two young gentlemen fell 
in love with two ladies also young. 

PRINCESSE 

This is a most original beginning. Young men 
fall in love with young ladies ! Pray, sir, what 
better could they do ? 

CHEVALIER 
Their love was returned : they became their 
accepted suitors. Their courtship was continued 
— for sixty-five years. [^Ladies laugh. 

DUCHESSE 
Absurd ! if that is all your story, M. le 
Chevalier. 

CHEVALIER {disconcerted) 
Well ! — that is all the story. 

MARQUIS 
Pardon me, not quite all. The ladies were as 
much attached to their adorers as they were to their 
mistresses. Long companionship endeared them 
to one another. 

DUCHESSE 
Pardon me, M. le Marquis, but our guests will 
be arriving. 



42 THE CHARM [act 

MARQUIS 
One moment more. By some sorcery the 
ladies at eighty recovered their youth — they be- 
came twenty — they scorned the love of their old 
suitors. Yes, Madame {fiercely). 

CHEVALIER 
It is too true, Madame {to the PrincessE, 
fiercely). 

PRINCESSE AND DUCHESSE 
Oh ! what terrible old men ! 

MARQUIS 
They scorned their love. 

CHEVALIER 
They laughed at their age. , 

MARQUIS 
They mocked their vows. 

CHEVALIER 
They pretended to forget the long years of ser- 
vice. As if they could forget 1 

PRINCESSE 
I do not understand this story at all. Two old 
ladies to become young again ! Two old lovers of 
sixty-five years' standing ! Why 



I 



I 



i 



II] THE CHARM 43 

DUCHESSE 

Isabelle We must not wait, gentlemen. 

These aged lovers should be treated with tisane. 
You must allow us to leave you. 

PRTNCESSE 
We shall ask for the end of this charming story, 
most interesting as it is (yazvns), when we shall 
have the pleasure of seeing you. 

{Exit PrinCESSE and DuCHESSE. 

CHEVALIER 

Good Heavens, Marquis ! Were two men ever 
so abused? If it were not for my gout I 
would 

MARQUIS 

And I, were it not for my sciatica, I would ■ 

Come, Chevalier, let us be philosophers. (^Snuffs,) 
What could we expect ? 

CHEVALIER 
We have spent our youth. We had no right, 
though the gift was dangled in our faces, to expect 
it back again. But this mockery, this barefaced 
contempt ! By Heavens ! it is too much. I will 
wait. I will watch. If the Princesse gives the 
least encouragement to any other man I will — I 
will 



44 



THE CHARM 



[ACT 



MARQUIS 
With what hand, my friend, and with what 
weapon ? The time is gone. The fellow Aldebaran 
has got some secret Let us bribe him. Bah ! 
the thing is absurd. Come, Chevalier, let us have -j 
a game of piquet. 

[Colin lays the table ; they sit down, to play 




'WERE TWO MEN EVER SO ABUSED?' 

CHEVALIER {angrily ^ throwing down cards 

and rising^ 
Did ever man hear the like ? 



i 



Ii]. THE CHARM 45 

MARQUIS 
My friend, patience ! The young have no 
memory. What are our eighty-five years to 
them ? The young have no memory. 

CHEVALIER 
To see her in the arms of another • 

MARQUIS 
How should the young love the old ? Once 
more, my friend, let me remind you that at eighty- 
five a few of the charms of youth have left us. 

CHEVALIER 
I have lost my Isabelle ! The image of that 
divine woman is shattered. 

MARQUIS [sadly) 
Alas ! it has taken me sixty-five years to learn 
the heart of my Helene. Now she is torn from 
me. 

CHEVALIER 

Let us leave this cursed salon. Let us retreat 
to our own rooms, where we will rail at women. 

MARQUIS 
No ; rather let us find out this devil of an Alde- 
baran, and bribe him — if we can — with ail our for- 
tune, if need be 



46 THE CHARxM [AC 

CHEVALIER {eagerly) 
To give us back our youth. 



MARQUIS 
No, Chevalier ; that is impossible. To give them 
back their age. 

CHEVALIER 
And to take away their youth. 

MARQUIS 

Why, after all, age is the best time. 

[Chevalier shakes his head. 

MARQUIS 

Can youth talk of the past ? 

chevalier 
Youth can enjoy the present. 

MARQUIS 
What is the present to the past ? What could 
youth give us to compare with such talk as we 
have had — we four — within these walls ? 

chevalier 
Yes, this room is full of ghosts — the ghosts of 
our perished years. 



\ 



't; 



II] THE CHARM 47 

MARQUIS 
There is no present for us. As for the future 

{shrugs his shoulders often and takes snuff ; 

looks round, and shakes his head). There is 
certainly the past 

Enter Raoul. 

CHEVALIER {roughly) 
Sir, we are obliged to you — we are indeed 
very much obliged to you. 

RAOUL {bows) 
May I ask, M. le Chevalier, in what way ? 

MARQUIS 
It is to you, M. le Vidame, that we owe the 
appearance of the Baron Aldebaran. We are so 
much obliged to you that 

CHEVALIER 

That, upon my word, if I were sixty instead of 
eighty I would call you out. 

RAOUL 
Then, sir, I am heartily glad that you are not 
sixty. 

MARQUIS 
Your friend, sir, the Baron Aldebaran, has been 



48 THE CHARM [ACT 

here, and has accomplished his work — his infernal 
work. 

CHEVALIER 
He will cool his heels before many days, if I 
have any influence, in the Bastille. 

RAOUL 

But what has the Baron done ? 

MARQUIS 
To you it will doubtless seem a trifle. He has 
restored the ladies to youth, that is all — that 
is all ! Our old friends have left us. They are 
young, but we remain old. 

RAOUL 
Youth! — the Duchesse and the Princesse ? 
You call that a trifle ? What is the meaning of 

this ? 

MARQUIS 
A very small thing — to them — because it only 
means the beginning over again. But to us — why, 
sir, we have lost the salon where we have sat every 
day for fifty years ! 

CHEVALIER 

And the women to whom we have made love 
for sixty-five years. 



II] THE CHARM 49 

MARQUIS 

The most delightful of women. 



CHEVALIER 
The friends of our young days. 

MARQUIS 
The last of our friends, 

CHEVALIER 
Who could remember everything. 

MARQUIS 
They knew all the stories. 

CHEVALIER 

The best- bred ladies in the world. 

MARQUIS 
And the best possible partners at quadrille. 

CHEVALIER 

And — and — in fact, the habits of a lifetime are 
rudely broken up and destroyed. 

RAOUL 
I am amazed ! Young again ? 



so THE CHARM [act 

MARQUIS 
You shall see. Here they come ! 

Enter DUCHESSE «;/^Princesse, beai'ing dominoes, 
masks, and hoods in their hands. 

MARQUIS 

Permit me, ladies, to present to you my young 
friend Raoul, Vidame de Chatillon. 

DUCHESSE 
I have heard my grandmother speak of your 
ancestors, sir. 

PRINCESSE I 

And mine. A friend of ^ 

CHEVALIER 

Their grandmothers ! They are ashamed of 
their names now. > 

MARQUIS 

They have forgotten. How can girls of twenty 
be grandmothers ? 

RAOUL 

{Aside to the Marquis) I do not understand 
what you mean about youth. These young ladies 
have been often mentioned to me by the Duchesse. 
{Aloud) And the Duchesse, Mademoiselle ? 



i 



II] THE CHARM 51 

DUCHESSE 
My dear grandmother is as well as her infirmi- 
ties and great age will allow. 

CHEVALIER {to MARQUIS) 

You hear ! She will brazen out anything. 

RAOUL {to the PRINCESSE) 

I last had the pleasure of seeing the Princesse 
here, Mademoiselle. 

PRINCESSE 

I left her at home over the fire. Dear grand- 
mamma, she feels the weight of years. 

MARQUIS {to chevalier) 

You hear ! They are both in a tale. 

DUCHESSE 

M. le Vidame, I hope that we shall be able to 
persuade you to stay this evening. Our friends 
will arrive immediately. [Raoul bows. 

PRINCESSE 
If that could be considered an inducement 
M. le Vidame, I would {shyly) offer you my 
hand for the first dance. 



52 THE CHARM [act 

RAOUL 
Oh, Mademoiselle ! I am too much honoured. 

DUCHESSE 
{Aside) She actually throws herself at his head ! 
{Aloud) M. le Vidame, one must not neglect the 
friends of one's grandmother. I promise you the 
next dance ; and you may — yes, you may sit 
beside me at supper. 

PRINCESSE 
{Aside) Oh ! this is too bad ! {Aloud) Helene, 
you must not keep your friends waiting. 

[DuCHESSE and PRINCESSE approach Raoul, 
as if to take his hand to go off. The 
PRINCESSE reaches him first. RaouL and 
PRINCESSE exeunt. DuCHESSE follows, 
angrily. 

MARQUIS 
So they are their own granddaughters. 

CHEVALIER 

And they are in love with their old lover^s 
grandson. 

MARQUIS 

Philosophy brings consolation. ( Takes snuff.) 
Otherwise one might lament the degeneracy of the 
age. 



Jl 



THE' CHARM 



53 



CHEVALIER 

In our time, Marquis 




DUCHESSE FOLLOWS, ANGRILY 



MARQUIS 

Ladies waited to be wooed. 



54 THE CHARM [act 

CHEVALIER 

And kept their lovers waiting. 

MARQUIS 
Sometimes as long as sixty-five years. 

CHEVALIER 
Now — it is incredible ! — the women of whom 
we thought so highly have, within a short 
half-hour of their change, both openly — I say 
openly 

MARQUIS 
Shamelessly, Chevalier. 

CHEVALIER 
Declared almost a passion. Is this the world 
of the young ? We have lived too long. 



MARQUIS 
That I think {takes snuff) would be im- 
possible. But things for the moment are dis- 
agreeable. 

Enter Aldebaran 

CHEVALIER {violently) 
You, sir — you are the cause of all this trouble ! 



II] THE CHARM 55 

ALDEBARAN 
What trouble ? I converted two old ladies 
into two young ladies. Are they not beautiful 
enough ? 

MARQUIS 
They are what they were sixty-five years 
before. 

ALDEBARAN 
They declared their love for you before their 
transformation — why, then, do you still await your 
own change ? 

CHEVALIER 
Because — it is embarrassing and — humiliating 
— because, in fact, they forgot the existence of 
that passion directly they recovered their youth. 

ALDEBARAN 

Ah ! that was bad ; but yet, was it unexpected ? 
Did you, gentlemen, think to preserve, or to win, 
the love of young and beautiful women ? 

MARQUIS 
Answer, Chevalier. 

CHEVALIER 
We thought that two gallant gentlemen, although 
no longer — ahem! — quite young, had so eftectually 



56 THE CHARM [act 

touched their hearts by long devotion that their 
image was fixed indehbly. 



ALDEBARAN 
So it was, by time. 

CHEVALIER 
Then 

ALDEBARAN 
But time flew back, and each year as it dropped 
from their heads carried with it something of the 
affection which they felt for you. What was left 
when all the years of devotion were gone ? 

MARQUIS 
Ta-ta. We waste our time in regrets. Can 
nothing be done, Baron ? 

ALDEBARAN 
You, too, would renew your youth, M. le 
Marquis ? You — a man of the world — a man of 
experience ! 

MARQUIS 

Not I, indeed. I have lived. Cure my sciatica 
and — and one or two other little things, and I envy 
no man. 



( 

I 

It 



II] THE CHARM 57 

CHEVALIER 
I would have my time over again. Age brings 
experience, but youth — ah ! youth. 

MARQUIS 
I want nothing but the restoration of things as 
they were. Baron, can that be done ? 

ALDEBARAN 
What do you ask me ? These ladies are young 
again— they enjoy the delirium of beauty, the 
triumphs of the salon, the troops of lovers. Would 
you deprive them of these ? 

CHEVALIER 
But they could not enjoy them — without us. 

MARQUIS 
He cannot understand, Baron, what forgetful- 
ness can do. They would enjoy without thinking 
of us. 

ALDEBARAN 
Yet you would take from them this enjoyment. 

MARQUIS {slowly) 
Youth is made up of anticipations never 
realised {takes snuff) — of ambitions which never 
satisfy — of rivalries, especially among women, 



58 THE CHARM [ACT 

which embitter — of disappointments which sadden. 
Would it not be well to spare them these ? 



CHEVALIER 
Yes, let us spare the ladies what we can. 

MARQUIS 

Later on we have memories {takes snuff) ; 
all the disappointments are forgotten— we remem- 
ber only the happiness. 

CHEVALIER 
True. They would like to remember the 
happiness.. 

MARQUIS 
To talk of these things in a quiet salon like 
this, hung with pictures of ourselves when we were 
young, to enjoy a quiet game of cards — this con- 
stitutes the greatest happiness of life. 

ALDEBARAN 

You think so ? Very well. 

MARQUIS 
Therefore let us not be selfish — let us, for these 
dear ladies' sakes, provide thern with the means of 
being happy. 



II] THE CHARM 59 

CHEVALIER 

We will not be selfish. 

MARQUIS 
Since we, their truest friends, cannot be young 
again, let them, so that we may continue to watch 
over them, become old once more. 

CHEVALIER 
That will certainly be best for them. 

MARQUIS 
Baron, give us back the companions of our 
lives, the dear delightful women who made us so 
unhappy when we weie young, and so happy when 
we became old. 

CHEVALIER 
I would rather be young with them ; but if not, 

then 

MARQUIS 
You will remark. Baron, that we seek nothing 
but the happiness of our mistresses. 

ALDEBARAN 
Gentlemen, your motives do you the greatest 
credit. An unselfish wish such as yours, M. le 
Marquis, is rare in this selfish world. It shall be 
as you desire. 

[ The ladies come in together^ masked. 



i 

60 THE CHARM [ACT "* 

Enter DUCHESSE, Princesse, and Raoul 

RAOUL {to DUCHESSE) 
I assure you, Madame 

DUCHESSE 
Oh, Monsieur ! there is no need. Besides, it is 
not to you that I need look for assurance. 

RAOUL {to PRINCESSE) 
Pray, Madame, take no heed. 

PRINCESSE 
BeHeve me. Monsieur, I shall not — neither of 
you nor of others unworthy my regard. 

DUCHESSE 
If you mean that graceful speech for me, 

Madame 

RAOUL 
Ladies, I entreat. 

PRINCESSE 
I mean what I say — no more. 

DUCHESSE {with low curtsey) 
Madame ! 

PRINCESSE {same business) 
Madame ! 



II] THE CHARM 

DUCHESSE 
As for you, Monsieur 

PRINCESSE 
Yes, Monsieur, as for you 



6i 




•what have 1 DONE?' 

RAOUL 
What have I done ? 

DUCHESSE 
Done ! My dear, he asks what he has done. 



PRINCESSE 

Did one ever hear the h'ke ? 



62 THE CHARM [act 

RAOUL {to DUCHESSE) 
Madame, it is time for our minuet. 



DUCHESSE 
I shall dance no more to-night, Monsieur. 

RAOUL (/^ PRINCESSE) 
Madame, may I have the honour ? 

PRINCESSE 
Monsieur, I am too fatigued. 

RAOUL 
Cornelius Agrippa or Aldebaran must have 
bewitched them ! 

[DuCHESSE and Princesse turn from each 
other. 

ALDEBARAN {steps forward) 
Permit me, ladies 

DUCHESSE 
Pardon me, sir 

ALDEBARAN 
Ah ! you do not remember — how should you ? 
May I ask, however, that you will listen to me for 
a moment— one moment only ? Allow me. 

\^He places them at the card-table and spinet. 



II] THE CHARM 

DUCHESSE 
I feel as if my head were turning round. 

PRINCESSE 
The room swims before my eyes. 



63 




TIIEY ARE OLD AGAIN 



\Thev are placed exactly as at end of Act I. 
Aldebaran focusscs their eyes, makes 
passes ; same movement as before of mes- 
meric influence. Aldebaran steps 
behind curtain. A feiu moments elapse. 
They start — the dominoes have fallen off. 
They are old again. PRINCESSE sings. 



64 THE CHARM [act ii 

PRINCESSE 
When April suns light up the hills, 

And young men woo, and maidens wait. 
When children wreathe fresh daffodils. 

Our hopes of spring, of bygone spring, we tell 
too late. 

When lovers whisper as they pass. 

When damsels hear with blushing cheek, 

When tabors play for lad and lass, 

Ah ! then of love, of perished love, we sadly 
speak. 

Curtain as Marquis and Chevalier advance to 
ladies, and stoop to kiss their hands. Music 
heard up to the last. 




' SHE IS AWAKENED ' 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



PAUL PERIGAL. 
CLAUDE FORRESTER. 



LILIAN TRAVERS. 

JANE (Servant). 



Morning Room. Table with breakfast laid — news- 
papers — playbills — over a chair Jiangs a great 
poster zvith i^ed letters. Lilian discovered with 
a book. While she speaks she walks about the 
room — sits down — zvalks about again — ahvays 
studying the zvords of the book between her own 
woi^ds. 

LILIAN 
I cannot get the words. They dance before 

my eyes. And I ought to have been word-perfect 

F 



66 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

long ago. If I do get them, some of them seem 
such dreadful nonsense. Why, oh why, did the 
Professor choose such a part as Juliet for my first 
appearance ? [Repeating woodenly. 

' Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die 
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
(Repeats absurdly, ' Cut him out in little stars,') 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
That all the world will be in love with night. 
And pay no worship to the garish sun.' 

Now, how is a poor girl to say those words 
seriously ? The Professor is always telling me 
that it's the voice of Love. If it is, the voice of 
Love says very odd things. ' Remember, child,' 
dear old Daddy continually tells me, ' remember, 
do remember, that you are Juliet, and that you 
love Romeo.' Well, what of that ? I love the 
dear old Daddy, but goodness knows I don't want 
to cut him out in little stars ! Oh, dear, what 
curious constellations he would make ! He ought 
to be down to his breakfast by now, dear old 
Daddy ! I suppose he was late last night. Now 
that he no longer acts himself there is nothing he 
loves so much as seeing other people act. And 
that is very curious, because he says that nobody 
can act nowadays. I wish he had carried his theory 
into practice with regard to Juliet and poor me. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



67 



But he wouldn't — he was as determined as he 
could be. His old friend Mr. Conyers, the 




* MY DEAR CHILD, YOU HAVE EVERY QUALIFICATION FOR 
THE part' 



manager of the Parnassus, wanted a Juliet, and 
that Juliet I was to be. ' My dear child,' Daddy 
said, ' you have every qualification for the part,' and 



68 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

then he added rather in an Irish fashion, 'and 
those qualifications you have not got, my dear, I 
will give you.' Well, if he can make me speak 
those lines and not seem a fool he will do wonders. 
{Looking at book agaiJi.) No, they puzzle me com- 
pletely. Suppose I looked at the paper for a 
change. {Looking through pape7\) Last Night in 
Parliament — The Jericho Mission — Theatre Royal, 
Parnassus. Oh, dear, shall I never get away from 
that.? 'On Wednesday, the i6th of June, this 
theatre will re-open with a performance of Romeo 
and Juliet. The merits of Mr. Godfreys Romeo 
are already known and are sure to command 
attraction. The interest of the occasion will be 
enhanced by the appearance of a new actress as 
Juliet. Miss Lilian Travers is a pupil of Mr. Paul 
Perigal, who has been her guardian since the death 
of her parents a few years ago. We hear great 
things of the debutantes powers. Her master's 
name alone will ensure for her an indulgent audi- 
ence.' Indulgent ! Yes, I daresay — especially if 
I stumble over my train in the ball-room scene. I 
wish I could forget it. Let me look at something 
else. This poster with the red letters. {Holds it 
up.) 'Juliet. Miss Lilian Travers.' That's 
a cheerful sort of thing to look at, isn't it ? Here's 
another paper. The War in the Soudan. 
Why, that is where dear old Claude has gone. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



69 



When was it he came to say good-bye to me ? 
Four years ago in this very month of May — in the 
orchard at my dear father's parsonage — the apple 
blossoms were out. Four years ago ! I was 







'THE APPLE BLOSSOMS WERE OUT' 



fourteen — the very age of Juliet — he had just got 
his commission, and his regiment was going abroad. 
I wonder if he has remembered me— I wonder. 
Well, it is no use thinking or wondering about the 
old days. {Throzvs dozvn paper unread^ I have 



70 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

my way to make, and my part to learn. Let me 
try my best to please Daddy this morning. 

[ Takes book and walks about, repeating 
lines to herself. 

Perigal, <3: retired actor, old-fasJiioned, courtly ; got 
up with wig and dressing-gown, and juvenile 
air, but an old man, enters as she recites. 

' Good father, I beseech you on my knees 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word ! ' 

[Seeing him 
I needn't go on my knees to you, Daddy, need 
I, to say Good morning ? 

PERIGAL (kissing her) 
No, no— my dear — no. Hard at work already, 
I see— good child — good child. We'll have our 
little rehearsal directly — if, my dear, you are equal 
to the exertion. It is but three weeks now to the 
eventful night— and that is not a bit too far off. 

LILIAN 
No, dear, indeed. I only wish it was farther 
off still — out of sight altogether 

PERIGAL 
My child, my child ! we must not lose courage. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 71 

Remember we have our duties to Art — yes, and to 
the British Public, too. We must do our very best 
to fulfil them. 

LILIAN 
Yes, dear, and indeed I will do my best, though 
I feel my duty to you much more than I do to 
Art and the British Public put together. 

PERI GAL 
There are some who will tell you that the two 
are not always allied ; but take an old actor's word 
for it that the public is the best critic when all's 
done. 

LILIAN 
Then, I hope, Daddy, they'll be kind to me. 
What did you do with yourself yesterday ? 

PERIGAL 
I attended two rehearsals in the morning; I 
assisted at a matinee^ so called because it was given 
in the afternoon ; I had my modest little dinner at 
the club, and then, of course, I went on to the new 
play at the Playmarket. 

LILIAN 
Was it good ? 

PERIGAL 
Good ? Yes ; from some points of view. The 



72 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

new school of actors possess purpose, ambition, 
youth, fire, talent — but 

LILIAN 
What does that ominous but mean, Daddy ? 

PERIGAL 
It means, my dear, that they are wanting in — 
that they have not precisely caught — that they fail 
to acquire — that, in short, they are 

LILIAN 
Not of the old school, eh. Daddy ? Isn't that 
about it ? 

PERIGAL 
Well, well, my dear — I daresay you are right. 
Autres temps ^ autres nioeurs — I cannot forget their 
predecessors. Ah — there are few of the vieille 
garde left now. And if I were put up in ' Richard 
the Third ' to-morrow 

LILIAN 

All the town would flock to see you. 

PERIGAL 

No — child — no. (^Sorrowfully^ Once, per- 
haps, they might. Once — long ago. But it's no 
use dwelling on old memories. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE n 

LILIAN {half aside) 
No, Daddy, it's no use. 



PERIGAL 
We must deal with the present — we must wel- 
come genius and talent, even if they take a shape 




* WHAT DO YOU THINK OF IT, FAIR JULIET ? ' 

new and strange to us. And that, my child, is 
what I hope from you. 



LILIAN 

Yes, I am to blend the old and the new, am I 



74 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

not ? To join your experience to my inspiration. 
(Perigal nods?) Only, so far as I can see, the 
partnership is incomplete. It wants the inspiration. 

PERIGAL 
Patience ! patience ! — that will come —meanwhile 
let us have break fast. ( Takes poster off tlie chair and 
holds it up.) What do you think of it, fair Juliet } 

LILIAN 
I hate it. Put it out of my sight. 

[Lilian ri?igs servant brings in dishes, &c, 

LILIAN 
Oh, Daddy, I was nearly forgetting. What do 
you think Jane tells me? A young gentleman called 
this morning soon after nine, and asked to see me. 

PERIGAL 
To see you ? 

LILIAN 
Yes ; and when he was told I was engaged, he 
said he would come back, and it didn't matter about 
his name. 

PERIGAL 
A young gentleman — already ? My dear, when 
you have made your success you will have plenty 
of such impertinent calls from people who dare to 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 75 

call themselves gentlemen, and you may as well be 
prepared for that. But already ! Before you have 
even appeared ! 

LILIAN 
I suppose it is that dreadful paragraph I have 
just been reading. \Gives Jiim newspaper. 

PERIGAL {runs over pai-agraph with delight) 
I suppose it maybe so— Paul Perigal's name 
is not forgotten yet ! But this must be put a stop 
to at once. {Ringing.) Jane! If the young ^^;2^/<?- 
man who was here this morning calls again, show 
him in to me in my study — you understand. 

JANE (who has entered to bell) 
Yes, sir. \Exit Jane 

PERIGAL 
I'll soon settle him. Greater impudence I never 
heard. If he gets to you, my dear, it shall be over 
my prostrate corpse, through oceans of gore. Don't 
be alarmed. 

LILIAN 
I'm not a bit. But who can it be ? I don't 
know any young gentlemen. 

PERIGAL 
No, my dear ; and when the time comes for 
more such young gentlemen to call, you will have 



je THE VOICE OF LOVE 

the bulwark of my experience, which has been in 
such matters peculiar and extensive. Well, well ; 
now to look at the papers. What have we here ? 
Matinee — matinie again — at the Palladium. What 
paper's this ? — the Daily Intelligence. Ha ! his 
own play reviewed by himself! Not usual, I am 
glad to say, in the English Press. They say 
Garrick used to write about his own performances. 
I have never believed it. Garrick was an Actor ! 
An Actor could not do such a thing. Ha ! Here's 
something that may interest you. Haven't you a 
cousin in the army — Claude Forrester ? 

LILIAN 

Not really a cousin, Daddy — only a connection. 
But he was my playfellow in my childhood, and 
we always called each other cousins. 

PERIGAL 
By gad, child, if he were your cousin you might 
be proud of him ! 

LILIAN 
Ah, dear old Claude ! What is it, Daddy ? 

PERIGAL {reading) 

* In my last letter but one I was unable to give 

you the name of the young officer who performed 

the brilliant deed of rescuing, single-handed, a 

wounded man from a party of five Arab assailants 



THE VOICE OF LOVE jy 

under a heavy fire from the Arab lines. I now 
learn that it was Mr. Claude. Forrester, of the Life 
Guards. It is a marvel that Mr. Forrester was not 
killed instead of being, as I believe he is, invalided 
home for the present. No doubt' in such a matter 
as this valour will find its just recompense.' 

LILIAN 
Dear old Claude ! Fancy his doing that ! But, 
of course, can we fancy his doing anything else ! 

~ PERIGAL 
Yes — yes — a fine fellow — a very fine fellow^ — I 
should like to know him. But now, child, to busi- 
ness. Everything is arranged for a rehearsal for 
you two days hence. And I have ordered this 
poster — that you don't like. It will be stuck up 
all over London. 

LILIAN 
Oh, Daddy, don't. 

PERIGAL 
My child, I don't like it any more than you do ; 
in my days one line in the bills was enough — 
Shylock, by Mr. Paul Perigal — but we must move 
with the times — we must move with the times. 
And talking of moving, let us see how we are 
getting on with our steps for the ball-room scene. 
Now, then, I am Capulet — 



78 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

You are welcome gentlemen. Come, musicians, 

play— 
A hall ! A hall ! Give room ! and foot it, girls. 
[^He takes a fiddle and goes through a few steps 
with her. She dances correctly^ but with- 
out animation. 

PERTGAL 

Yes, child, that will do very nicely — very nicely. 
And now just a moment, take a last look at the 
book, and we will go on to the words. (^As she sits 
dozvn and takes up book again Perigal continues ^ 
aside) Poor child, poor child — what are we to do ? I 
am dreadfully afraid about her success, and it means 
so much to her ! Why didn't I bring her out in 
comedy instead of Juliet ? Well — because she has 
everything that the part wants except one little 
thing— the want of which I did not foresee — passion! 
A passionless Juliet ! One might as well have a 
benevolent Mephistopheles. — perhaps the new 
school will give us one some day. Well, we must 
do what we can. {Aloud) Now, Lilian, let us 
to business, and remember how much depends on 
the business. Fame, fortune, boundless adulation 
will be yours if you will only play this part as I 
want you to. 

LILIAN 

I will do my very best indeed, Daddy. I will 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



79 



try all I can. If I can only imitate you exactly in 
the passages that puzzle me so much ! 

. PERIGAL 
Ah ! But that's just it, my darling. Imitation is 
not acting. Acting must come from a blending of 
nature and art. 




HE TAKES A FIDDLE AND GOES THROUGH A FEW STEPS 
WITH HER 



LILIAN 

I am very sorry I am so dull, Daddy. 



8o THE VOICE OF LOVE 

PERIGAL 

You are not dull, you are — well — you are cold. 
An actress must not be cold. Think what it is 
to be an actress ! 

LILIAN 

It is to have your name on posters five feet 
long. 

PERIGAL 

That's nothing. 

LILIAN 

To have your photograph in all the shop 
windows. 

PERIGAL 

That's less than nothing. Let me tell you, child, 
what an actress is. An actress is a woman who 
knows all the workings of the heart and can call 
them up at wall to delight, to dazzle, to enthral, to 
terrify the audience on whose inmost feelings she 
plays as a violinist plays on his magic strings. She 
is a perfect picture, but a picture that is always 
changing, because there is no pause in the tide of 
human passion. She is a mirror in which her audi- 
ence see their own images, or rather the images of 
what they would like to be. She inspires men to great 
deeds ; she holds them back from what is mean and 
base. She makes them weep and laugh at will ; she 
is greater than the greatest, because, while the great 
command men's actions, she alone can sway their in- 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



8i 



most thoughts, their unborn wishes, with her all 
compelling voice. Ah! I have seen such acting — 
once. Try to be like Jier \ and do not you believe 




'OH, DADDY, IT FRIGHTENS ME— I SHALL NEVER BE 
ABLE TO DO ALL THAT ' 

them, child, when they tell you that the player's 
career is but a brilliant bubble, forgotten as soon 
as its short radiance is gone. No, child, the great 

G 



k 



82 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

player's memory is imperishable — it is preserved in 
material cere parennius — more lasting than any 
metal — for it is written in the human heart. And 
that, Lilian, is what it is to be an actress. 

LILIAN 

Oh, Daddy, it frightens me — I shall never be 
able to do all that. 

PERIGAL 

Nonsense, child, you have it all in you, I know. 
The difficulty is to dig down to it, or up to it, and 
that is what I have got to do if I can. Now, let 
us take Act II. Scene V. This chair is the window 
— I am Romeo. {Poses himself.) Now remember 
what the situation is. Juliet is in love — nay, more, 
she is loved, and she cannot bear to be parted from 
her lover — there must be passion in every breath. 
Now try. ' Wilt thou be gone ? ' 

LILIAN 
* Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale and not the lark 
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. 
Nightly she sings in the pomegranate-tree — 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale — ' 

PERIGAL (starting zvitJi impatience) 
No — no — no ! That'll never do. It's not at 
all like it. Juliet is in love I Shall I never make 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 83 

you understand what that means ? Try again ; see 
if you cannot get a Httle tremor of emotion into 

your speech 

[Lilian repeats first two lines again. 

PERIGAL {jumps about) 
No — no — worse and worse ! There's no love in 
a wobbling voice 

LILIAN {huffy) 
I wish there was no such thing as love in the 
wobbling world ! 

PERIGAL 
Poor child — poor child — forgive me for being 
impatient. After all, how should you know what 
the voice of Love means ? 

LILIAN 
Well, Daddy, it's only too clear that 1 don't 
How am I to learn ? 

PERIGAL 
How, indeed ? How can you be taught ? Love, 
my dear, is extravagant in its words, just because 
words are too poor to express it — a spendthrift 
of base coinage. What can I tell you of love 1 
Love turns a woman into a goddess. How I 
remember thirty or, by 'r lady, thirty-five years ago 



84 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

when love turned a woman into a goddess for me 
— and the transformation had its ready reason. 
Who would care for a mere woman when he can 
worship a goddess ? What a time it was — when 
one was young enough for the divine exaltation of 
love ! That is it — only the young who still feel it 
can explain it. There must be plenty of young 
fellows who would be glad to expound the mystery 
to you ! If one could but find one of the right 
stamp ! If a kindly chance would but drop one 
from the clouds ! One from the clouds ! 

LILIAN 
Dear old Daddy ! You are actually crying for 
the moon ! 

[Jane's and Forrester's voices heard outside. 

FORRESTER'S voice outside 
Of course you are quite right — always obey 
orders — rule of the Service ; but there are excep- 
tions — this is one — Mr. Perigal will forgive 

you 

LILIAN 
What is all this ? 

JANE {opening door) 
If you please, sir, the young gentleman — he \ 
would come in. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



85 



PERIGAL (^running to door) 
He shall come in through my body, then. My 
sword, Lilian — or the poker ! 




' PRAY FORGIVE THIS INTRUSION, SIR ' 



CLAUDE {entering) 
Pray forgive this intrusion, sir ; I am sure you 
will when -Lilian ! 



S6 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

LILIAN {seeing hiin) 
Claude ! You dear old boy ! Daddy, it's 
Claude ! 

PERIGAL 
So I gathered from your first remark. May I 

ask, sir 

CLAUDE 
Certainly, sir. I am Claude Forrester. I am 
— or rather was — Miss Travers's kind of a cousin, 
and I am only just back from foreign service. I 
discovered from a paragraph in a newspaper that 
Miss Travers was your ward and pupil. So I 
ventured to come here. 

LILIAN 
Oh, Claude, of course you did ! 

PERIGAL 
Yes, yes — of course he did. {Aside while 
Lilian and Claude talk) Of course he did. Now 
let us see. What if this should be the answer to 
my wish } The young fellow dropped from the 
clouds ! A cousin - and yet no cousin — the very 
thing. He looks as if he wouldn't make a bad 
Romeo. The situation is desperat: ; suppose I put 
it to the touch. {Aloud) Mr. Forrester, I am 
delighted ; I am proud to make your acquaintance. 



I 



THE VOICE OF LOVE S7 

I told Lily just now I should like to make it. I 
have heard of your exploit. It made me proud of 
you and proud of my country. 

CLAUDE 
Oh ! sir, that was nothing ; I just did my 
duty 

PERIGAL 
Oh ! Then I wish people as a rule did their 
duty one quarter as well. But modesty is a virtue, 
and not too common a one. (Aside) I like his 
looks more and more. I zu/// try it. I can see her 
eyes softening now just as some other eyes once 
softened. Well — well— that's gone. (Aloud) 
Lilian ! (She starts and turns round.) We must 
not neglect our little rehearsal too much — but I 
have no doubt you and your cousin have much to 
say to each other ? 

LILIAN 
Oh, yes, Daddy ! 

PERIGAL 
Very well. I will give some directions about 
the printing and rejoin you shortly. Mr. Forrester, 
let me once again shake you by the hand. 

\^Does so. 
CLAUDE 
Oh, sir, you make too much of it 



, 



88 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

PERIGAL 

No, no, I don't. I know what to make much 

of. Trust an old actor for that. (At door, aside) 

An experiment— an experiment. But I'll wager 

it will succeed, and then .so will my pupil ! \_Exit. 

CLAUDE 
Lily ! Is it possible that four years should 
make such a difference ? 

LILIAN 
What difference, Claude ? You knew me 
directly. 

CLAUDE 
Of course I did. But four years ago you were 
a little fairy of a child. And now what are you, 
Lily? 

LILIAN 
Just what 1 was then, Claude. 

CLAUDE 
No, you are glorified— you have grown into a 
woman, and a beautiful one 

LILIAN 
Don't flatter, Claude ; you never used to. 

CLAUDE 
Xhere is no flattery in — — 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 89 

LILIAN 
Now, no nonsense, Claude. Were you badly 
wounded in that dreadful — that splendid fight ? 

CLAUDE 
No, Lily, not badly — that is, the doctors 
wouldn't let me stay there, and certainly the voyage 
has made a new man of me. 

LILIAN 
Poor Claude ! To be so brave and to suffer so 
much, for I know you did, I can see the traces of 
it still. But you are well now ? 

CLAUDE 
Yes, Lily, better than I have ever been before. 
But tell me about yourself? 

LILIAN 
Well ! you know Mr. Perigal, one of my father's 
oldest friends, is my guardian and tutor. Poor 
papa could leave me but very little money, and 
Mr. Perigal is not rich. So I had to decide on 
making my own way somehow, and Mr. Perigal is 
teaching me to act. 

CLAUDE 
To act ! 



90 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

LILIAN 
Why, you must have known that from the 
paper ! 

CLAUDE 
Yes, but it still seems so strange ! My little 
cousin turning into a great actress ! 

LILIAN 
No, Claude, I don't think I shall ever be that. 
1 know I have some turn for it, but — but I don't 
like the idea. The notion of that sea of faces 
looking at me, criticising one's every word ; one's 
every posture, one's face, one's voice becoming 
public property — it frightens me and hurts me — 
but I don't like to tell Daddy so. And oh ! Look 
at this horrid poster. \^Holds it up. 

CLAUDE 
Poor little Lily ! Do you remember when we 
parted } 

LILIAN 
Yes, Claude — I remember. 

CLAUDE 

The apple blossoms were out. We stood 

beneath the great tree in the orchard. Your hair 

was flying in the breeze. Your eyes were soft — 

they were always the softest, sweetest eyes in the 



I 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



91 



world. 1 kissed you good-bye, and you promised 
you would not forget me. Lily, have you kept 
that promise ? 

LILIAN 
Yes, Claude, I have. 




' LOOK AT Tins HORRID POSTER ' 

CLAUDE 
And I vowed — do you remember, Lily, what I 
vowed ? 

LILIAN 
I don't know, Claude. 



CLAUDE 
Lily, you must remember. I vowed — I vowed 



92 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

that I should think of you ever and aye, whatever 
befell me. I vowed that I would come back to you 
as soon as Fate would let me, and that when I 
came back, I should ask you if you cared for me 

still. 

LILIAN 
Ah ! As if I had forgotten ) 

CLAUDE 
Let me bring it back to your memory again. 
Lily, since then I have been in many strange 
places of the world, seen many strange and beauti- 
ful and dreadful sights — been many a time at close 
touch with death. But in all that time, not a day 
has passed that I have not thought of you, thought 
of our parting, looked forward to our meeting. 
See, here are the photograph and the lock of hair 
you gave me. Every day in all that time I have 
kissed them both. Lily, by the memory of the 
weary hours that have been solaced by the thought 
of you, by the memory of the child I loved, tell 
me if — if 

LILIAN 
If what, Claude ? 

CLAUDE 
If you love me as I love you. No, you cannot 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



93 



do that. For to me, this love is as a sudden bright- 
ness that h'ghts up all the past, and may turn the 
future to splendour. Lily ! For four years I have 




KNEELS AND KISSES HER HAND 



dreamed of this meeting, but only now do I know 
how much it seems to me, how much depends 
upon your answer. Do you understand me, Lily ? 



94 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

LILIAN 
Yes — I understand — I see it all now ! 



CLAUDE 
You see, then, that I love you, that there is no 
other woman in the world for me but you— that 
you are my heart — my life. Do you see that ? 

[^Kneels and kisses her hand. 

LILIAN 

I see one thing clearly. Daddy has reproached 
me often in his lessons with having no heart. I 
have none ! Do not shrink from me. It is because 
I have given it all to you — had given it all to you 
long ago, and never knew it till now. 

CLAUDE 
My darling ! 

LILIAN 
My hero ! my love ! Ah ! I believe I could 
act Juliet now. 

CLAUDE 
Is there any need now? {Takes up poster^ 
Let me tear it up. 

LILIAN 
No, no. It will serve to recall many things. 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 95 

CLAUDE 
But you will not act now ? 

LILIAN 
To act what has come to me as a revelation ? 
Oh ! no, no, Claude ! I should hate to do it. 
Daddy has told me what an actress is : a great and 
a good woman if she uses her divine gift rightly. 
But an actress must be ready to assume to others 
what she feels only for one. And I could not do it. 

CLAUDE 
My darling, you must not. You will not mind 
sharing a soldier's life, Lily ? 

LILIAN 
I should not mind sharing any life with you. 
But I must think of poor Daddy ; he will be so 
disappointed at losing his pet pupil. How can I 
soften the blow to him ? 

CLAUDE 
How, indeed? H'm — stop — I have an idea. 
Soldier officers are expected to have ideas in these 
days of examinations. Didn't you say just now 
that you felt as if you understood Juliet at last ? 

LILIAN 
Yes, Claude, I did. 



96 THE VOICE OF LOVE 

CLAUDE 
Then — stop ! Here comes Mr. Perigal — follow 
my notion. 

Enter Perigal 

PERIGAL 
Young people, you have had your talk, and I 
hope it has been a pleasant one. 

CLAUDE 
Very pleasant, thank you, sir. 

PERIGAL 
Well, talk is talk and business is business ; we 
must get to business again. {Aside) The experi- 
ment luis succeeded, the girl looks transformed. 
{Aloud) Don't go, Mr. Forrester, you may help 
us with your advice {aside) and — ahem !— example. 

CLAUDE 
Miss Travers was telling me, sir, that she felt 
very nervous about the part — I have ventured to 
give her some encouragement. I think you wil' 
find she is less nervous now. 

PERIGAL 
Ah ! just as I hoped, just as I hoped ! Now, 
I^ilian, we will take, if you please, the speech that 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 97 

always puzzled you so much, 'Give me my Romeo' 
— eh? 

LILIAN {looking at Claude) 
* Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die. 
Take him and cut him out in little stars. 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
That all the world will be in love with night 
And pay no worship to the garish sun.' 

PERIGAL 
Brava ! — brava ! The true touch at last. I always 
said the girl was an actress. Mr. Forrester, I am 
greatly obliged to you. Lilian, what a triumph 
your appearance will be on the i6th ! 

LILIAN 
Daddy — that triumph can never be — you must 
find another Juliet. There are plenty of them. 

PERIGAL 
Why— what? 

LILIAN 
You see. Daddy, Claude taught me. And now 
that I have learnt it, I have learnt something else 
too [ Takes Claude's hand. 

PERIGAL 

What's that ? What's that ? 

H 



98 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 



CLAUDE 
I return you the poster, sir. It will not be 
wanted. 

LILIAN 
No. It will not be wanted. 

PERIGAL 

And I've spoiled it all ! Oh ! Lilian— Juliet — 
'Juliet — Lilian ! She is awakened. She knows the 
voice of Love ! Oh ! what a loss ! what a loss ! 

\_Sinks into a chair, ani buries his face 
in his hands. 




( 



i. 




DRAMATIS PERSON.E 

Philip Ainslie, Fellow and Lecturer, Christ's College^ 

Cambridge. 

James Sevenoke, Country Gentleman. 

Eleanor Ingress 1 . . c i, i -r i, 

^ American hchool 1 eacners. 
Mamie Elgood / 



ACT I 

Evening. Drawing-room of Deriventivater Hote'L 
French ivindozvs to the ground. View of lake 
througJi the zvindows, which open on a lawn. 
Door on R. 

Eleanor and Mamie discovered. Eleanor sit- 
ting zvith her hands crossed, looking at the lake 
Mamie at zvindow. 

MAMIE 
Our last evening, dear. To-morrow that hateful 
1 jverpool. Then the transit, and then 



L 



lOO PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

ELEANOR 

Then to work again — the schoolroom and the 
children. Well, Mamie, we've had a lovely 
holiday ; there can never, never, never happen 
such another. 

MAMIE 
I shall remember London as a kind of mirage. 
We saw many people — interesting and otherwise — 
but we never got to know them. 

ELEANOR 
Too many people. But Chester ! Ah ! 

MAMIE 
Chester ! Ah ! that was splendid. And the 
cathedrals ! Oh ! 

ELEANOR 
And the castles ! Oh 1 

MAMIE 

Oh ! They were delightful. And the Lakes ! 

Oh ! the last fortnight at the Lakes ! Oh ! shall 

we ever, ever, ever forget Grasmere, and Llewellyn, 

and Rydal Water ? \Clasps her hands, 

ELEANOR {sighs) 
Impossible. 



1 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS loi 

MAMIE 
And {stealing across the 7'oovi, and bending over 
Eleanor) shall we ever, ever, ever forget what 
made that fortnight so delightful ? (Eleanor is 
silent?) Did ever two simple American girls have 
such an adventure before ? To make the acquaint- 
ance of two young men — and such young men — 
and to go about with them 

ELEANOR 
Mamie, dear, don't say ' go about ' with them. 
It so happened that their route fell in with ours. 

MAMIE 
Yes, dear, that is exactly what I meant. Their 
route fell in with ours. Very strange it was. Mr 
Sevenoke often remarked upon the curious co- 
incidence. Come now, Eleanor, shall we readily 
forget these — strangers? 

■ ELEANOR {rises and walks to the piano) 
I don't want to forget them. {Sits down and 
plays. Mamie goes to window and looks out. 
Eleanor drops her face in her hands. Springs to 
her feet ; brushes away the tears}) Why should 
we? I don't want ever to forget them, Mamie. 

MAMIE 
Why should we forget them ? 



I02 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



[act 



ELEANOR 
Yet wc are but simple, casual acquaintances. 
Only it has been a great happiness to learn what 
a pleasant creature an English gentleman may be 




ENTER, BY THE WINDOW, PHILIP AINSLIE AND 
JAMES SEVENOKE 



I 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS 103 

MAMIE 
Yes, a great happiness. And now it is all over. 

ELEANOR 
Yes, it is all over. 

MAMIE 
They won't desert us on our very last evening 
will they .? Ah ! no ! it would be too unkind. 

Enter WAITER with tray 
The gentlemen ordered coffee in here. 

MAMIE {with dignity) 
Thank you. {Exit WAITER.) What did I tell 
you ? 

Enter, by the zvindozv, Philip Ainslie and 
James Sevenoke in morning dress. 

MAMIE {offers coffee) 
Will you have coffee, Nelly ? Mr. Sevenoke, 
coffee ? Mr. Ainslie ? 

{^Kl^^lAY. declines. Waits on Eleai^ OR. Takes 
her cup and puts it back in tray. He 
stands beside her in the window, and they 
talk earnestly. James Sevenoke and 
Mamie go doivn stage. 



I04 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

JAMES 
Is it possible, Miss Elgood, that you are really 
going to leave us to-morrow. 

MAMIE 
It is not only possible, Mr. Sevenoke, it is quite 
certain. We have secured our cabin, and we have 
to start at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon. This 
day week we shall be back again in New York. 

\^Sighs. 
JAMES 
You take back with you, Miss Mamie, I hope, 
some pleasant remembrances ? 

MAMIE 
Oh ! yes. 

JAMES 
You will take with you, too, a broken heart. 

MAMIE 
Really ! 

JAMES 
Oh ! don't look surprised. Mine has gone into 
little bits. I wish you'd stick them together again. 

MAMIE 
Shall I thank you, Mr. Sevenoke, for the present 
of a worthless article .? Why, I believe you once 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS 105 

told mc that you were engaged to — what was her 
name ? Hadn't you better ask her about the 
sticking together ? 

JAMES 



MAMIE 

If I Such virtue — or is it the other thing ? — in 

that if. 

JAMES 
Ah ! if. 

MAMIE 
But as things are we will just go on being 
friends, and I shall carry away, not the snippets of 
a heart, but the recollection of a time that has been 
very pleasant. 

JAMES 
Very pleasant. 

MAMIE 
I suppose because the Lake country is so 

lovely. 

JAMES 

I have felt myself the strange beauty of the 

country. That alone, of course, has made the last 

fortnight the most delightful to me I have ever 

know^n. 

MAMIE 

Shall you tell your fiancee how much you 

enjoyed the— beauty of the country ? 



io6 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

JAMES 
yVy fiancee I I had to get engaged to her — my 
father was her guardian, and — well — I don't know 

if 

MAMIE 
Yes — I quite understand. And now no more 
nonsense. Shall we go out on the lawn ? 

JAMES 
If we must. \^Sighs. 

MAMIE 

And see the sun set over the water? It will be 
much better than talking about hearts and snippets 
— won't it? 

[ TJiey go up stage and leave the room by the 
window. By this time ELEANOR and 
Philip, who have been talking earnestly, 
have left the windozv, and she is sitting at 
the piano. He stands over her. 

PHILIP 
The days have gone like a dream. 

ELEANOR (repeats) 
Like a dream. 

PHILIP 
It seems impossible that I have been in lake- 
land — with you — a whole fortnight. 



I] 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



107 



ELEANOR 
It is a charming country, Mr. Ainslie. I shall 
never foro-et the lakes and the mountains. There 




SHE IS SITTING AT THE PIANO. HE STANDS OVER HER 



are lakes and mountains in our own countr}^ much 
bigger, but not so lovely. 



io8 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

PHILIP 
Will you remember sometimes, Miss Ingress, 
your companions in this place? 

ELEANOR 
I shall always remember — both of you, Mr. 
Ainslie. 

PHILIP 
I wish I could have shown you Cambridge and 
— if you w^ould care to see them — my rooms. 

ELEANOR 
1 should like to see Cambridge. 

PHILIP 
You know that I am a lecturer in my college. 
It is not a way of life that brings riches - but it 
brings a sufficiency -if I could only show you 
Cambridge — and my place in it. 

ELEANOR 
Alas ! Mr. Ainslie, it is impossible. 

PHILIP 
Oh ! but soon —next year. 

ELEANOR 
I do not suppose that I shall ever again get 
over here. 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS 109 

PHILIP 
Never again ? Oh ! But the journey is so very 
short — it is nothing. 

ELEANOR 
If it is nothing, Mr. Ainslie, why do you not 
cross the ocean to see— the States ? 

PHILIP {eagerly) 
Yes, yes. Tell me where I can find you — give 
me an address. Let me write to you, Miss 

Ingress — let me {He sees Mamie and James 

outside^ and stands up.) You will give me your 
address, Miss Ingress ? 

ELEANOR 
I will write it for you. {They cross the room to 
tJie table, where thei^e are writing materials. She 
sits down a7td takes pen and paper?) There, Mr. 
Ainslie, a letter to this address will always be 
forwarded to me. And now, if you please, I will 
get my hat, and we will go out into the garden 
with the others. S^Exit. 

PHILIP {left alone) 
I must speak to her this very night. I will not 
wait to write — I will make her mine before she 
leaves the country. {Kisses the paper.) She is a 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



[act 



queen ! She is a goddess ! {Goes to window, 
meets James and Mamie coming back.) 




KISSES THE PAPER 



MAMIE 

Where is Eleanor, Mr. AinsHe ? 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS iii 

PHILIP 
She has gone for my hat, I beHeve — I mean for 
a pair of gloves. [Exit PHILIP into the garden. 

MAMIE 

I will go for my hat, too. It is getting chilly 

outside. 

JAMES 



Miss Elgood. 
Mr. Sevenoke. 



MAMIE 



JAMES 
Don't you think, Miss Elgood, that it would be 
a kindness to let these two go out in the boat by 
themselves ? We can watch the sunset effect from 
the shore, you know. With a cigarette, perhaps. 

MAMIE 
If you promise to talk no more nonsense about 
broken hearts. 

JAMES 
Well, I promise. 

MAMIE 
Because you see, Mr. Sevenoke, if you were 
serious I should be a very wicked person to listen 
to a man already engaged. And, honestly, hearts 
are not things to chaff about. 
JAMES 
I obey, because I must. I will do it with a 



112 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

good grace, and only ask if there is anything I 
could do for you to make these too fleeting hours 
flit pleasantly ? 

MAMIE 

Thank you very much, Mr. Sevenoke. If you 
could give us your society and Mr. Ainslie's for 
another week or two it would be pleasant. But 
you can't We like you both very much. {Offers 
Jiiin her hand?) Now, in good camaraderie, no 
more about hearts. ( They shake hands?) We are 
brother and sister. 

JAMES 

Ah ! no ! I'm hanged if we are. 

MAMIE 
Well- cousins ? 

JAMES 

Very — very distant ones. But look here. Miss 
Elgood, I do so want to do something for you 
before we — part. Oh ! it's an absurd thing for a 
poor English country squire to say to an American 
millionaire — but you know what I mean. 

MAMIE 

We are not all millionaires in America, Mr.^ 
Sevenoke — at least, I am not. {Aside) Now I'll 
just try him. (Aloud) Of course, poor Eleanor 
is, but she can't help it. You wouldn't think so to 
look at her— a millionaire. 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS 113 

JAMES 
On the contrary, I suspected it from the begin- 
ning, because she's such good form. What is it ? 
Silver mines ? Corners in cotton ? 

MAMIE 
Nitrate of petroleum, or something. The 
dollars come rolling in faster than anybody can 
count them — a thousand a minute, I believe. 

JAMES 
Oh ! {Aside) What will Ainslie say ? 

MAMIE 
Yes. No end to the dollars. Don't tell Mr. 
Ainslie. (Aside) But he is sure to tell him ! 

JAMES 
I won't. A millionaire ! Well, I'm sorry. I 
hoped for better things. Yet it is something to 
have spent a fortnight in company with a 
millionaire. 

MAMIE 
Oh! that's nothing. We think very little of 
millionaires. Now, Mr. Sevenoke, if you could 
only show me a real live lord ! 

JAMES 
A real live lord ? Why ? 



114 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

MAMIE 
Well, you see, we expected to see them stand- 
ing about at railway stations, and the people going 
on their knees to them, and we haven't seen one, 
except now and again afar off. 

JAMES 
(Aside) 1 will just try her. (Aloud) Not seen 
one close? Oh ! but (mysteriously whispers) don't 
you know ? (Points to PHILIP, zuho is outside the 
window?) Of course, I was not to tell you— but 
— well — Philip Ainslie, you know. You are going 
away to-morrow 

MAMIE 
Mr. Ainslie ? What about him ? 

JAMES 
Why, he is a real live lord. He travels incog. 
He is the Right Honourable Philip, Earl of Carleon, 
Viscount Cader Idris, and Baron Barmouth. 
Ainslie is only his family name 

MAMIE 
A real — live — lord ! Oh ! Is he really ? A 
prodigal, profligate, abandoned, steeped-in-wicked- 
ness lord ? 







PEER AND HEIRESS 



115 



JAMES 
All noble lords are profligates except Philip. 
He isn't. He is the one exception. Hush ! Don't 
tell anyone. Here is Miss Ingress 

[^He goes up stage and stands at the ivindow 
loo kins' out. 




' ELEANOR INGRESS ! WE HAVE BEEN DECEIVED ! 



MAMIE {catches ELEANOR by the arm, and drags 
her to the front) 
Well ! Well ! Eleanor Ingress ! we have been 
deceived ! 



ii6 PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

ELEANOR 

How, dear ? Who has deceived us ? 



MAMIE 

We must never — never — never trust an Engh'sh- 
man again. Mr. Ainslie has deceived us ! 

ELEANOR 
Mr. Ainslie ? 

MAMIE 
He isn't Mister at all. He is the Right 
Honourable Philip, Earl of Carleon, Viscount Cader 
Idris, and Baron Barmouth ! There ! 

ELEANOR 
Nonsense ! Who told you ? 

MAMIE 
Mr. Sevenoke. I wasn't to tell anybody 
And so I've told you, but don't you hand it on. 

ELEANOR 
Oh ! Mamie ! And I thought — Mamie ! he 
does not know who and what we are. We have 
perhaps deceived him. 



- 



I] PEER AND HEIRESS 117 

MAMIE 
He must be told that we are two school teachers 
taking a holiday. 

ELEANOR 
Fortunately, we go away to-morrow. Oh I 
Mamie dear, I'm so sorry. Is the other man a 
noble lord too ? 

MAMIE 
No, he's only a gentleman. 

ELEANOR 

Mamie ! It must be the most miserable thing 
— the most soul-destroying thing— to be a noble 
lord, to have all this respect paid to you for no- 
thing — for nothing at all. Oh ! I am so sorry — I 
am so sorry for Mr. Ainslie. Let us go to our own 
room, Mamie. I cannot go out with him any 
more. It was a pleasant dream — while it was a 
dream. 

MAMIE 

An Earl and a Viscount and a Baron ! Oh, 
Nell ! the double — triple — the sextuple duplicity 
of the man ! \Exeunt girls. 

JAMES {looks in) 
Where are they } Gone out by the other door 



Ii8 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

{Comes doivn stage}) I suppose Mamie has told 
her. I wonder how she'll take it. 

Enter PHILIP 
Where are the girls, Jem ? 

JAMES 
I don't know. Thought they were in the 
garden with you. Come here, old man, I've got 
something to tell you. (Philip comes down stage.) 
Look here, Miss Ingress — you rather like Miss 
Ingress, don't you ? 

PHILIP 
Rather ! Well, yes — yes — I do, as you say — I 
do — I rather like her. Yes. 

JAMES 
What do you think she is ? Mamie has just told 
me. 

PHILIP 
A gentlewoman of the United States. What 
better could she be ? 

JAMES 

That, of course. She is also, old chap, a 
millionaire — as rich as they make 'em— rolling 
and swimming in dollars 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



119 



PHILIP 
A millionaire ? Eleanor a millionaire ? 




'ELEANOR A MILLIONAIRE?' 



JAMES \nods his head^ 
Million — millionaire — millionissima — three de- 
crees of comparison in millions. 



I20 PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

PHILIP 
A millionaire ! She must think that I wanted her 
money. What a horrible thing — what a miserable 
thing- it must be to be so rich as to receive all 
this respect for nothing — just nothing at all of one's 
own doing ! I am very sorry. ( Takes the address 
she had given him) I am very sorry indeed — for 
Miss Ingress. {Tears up the paper.) There's an 
end, Jem. It was a, pleasant dream — while it was 
a dream. 

Enter the tzvo girls — without their hats. Mamie 
remains near the door. jAMES walks up stage 
as if to join her. She puts up her hand — he 
remains standing still. ELEANOR walks over 
to Philip, who gloomily keeps his eyes fixed on 
the floor. 

ELEANOR 
We have come to say good-bye, Mr. Ainslie — 
I suppose I may continue to call you by that name. 
There can be no question of any letters to me, if 
you please. It is always best, don't you think, to 
et the whole truth appear at once? However, 
perhaps you meant kindly — so — good-bye, Mr. 
Ainslie. 

JAMES {gives her his hand) 
Good-bye, Miss Ingress. Had I known earlier 
—had things been explained 



I] 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



ELEANOR 

And had I known earlier. But, thank you for 
your kindness to two insignificant American girls 
— and again — farewell! {Bows and retires^ Come, 
Mamie. 




' I MUST SHAKE HANDS, MR. SEVENOKE ' 



MAMIE 
I must shake hands, Mr. Sevenoke. And oh, I 
am so sorry ! Oh, why did you tell me ? Why ? 
Why ? \Bursts into tears and exit. 



122 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

PHILIP 
Jem — why did you tell me ? Why ? 

JAMES 
Look here, old chap ! I've never been in an 
earthquake — but 

Curtain as they look blankly at each other. 



\ 



ir] PEER AND HEIRESS 123 



ACT II 

The hall of the CUftonville Hotel facing the Falls 
of Niagara. Visitors at hotel sit and pass to 
and fro. Hotel clerk is writing a letter. 
(If there is a difficulty as to scenery, screens at 

the back will serve.) 

MAMIE [comes on sketch-book in hand) 
So I have done a good afternoon's work sitting 
on that stand and painting. Oh ! how the water 
raced at my feet, tearing along for the grand leap 
of two hundred feet. (BLACK Waiter brings her a 
letter?) Thank you. {Sits down on chair in front, 
opens letter^ That's right, Nell will come for tea 
at five, after school. Poor dear Nell! {Opens 
sketch-book^ This was my English sketch-book 
last year. Here they are - the drawings I made 
in Lakeland. This is Jem Sevenoke. Poor old 
Jem — they called him Jem— with his heart in 
tatters and engaged all the time to another girl. 
Wicked, inconstant Jem ! I am ashamed of Jem. 



124 PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

They called him Jem. He'd got such an honest 
face. Yet it wasn't unpleasant. Heigho ! 1 some- 
times wish— hcigho! — and here is the Right Hon- 
ourable the Earl, and the Most Honourable the 
Viscount, and the Great Honourable the Baron, all 
three rolled in one. Wretch ! You spoilt it all. 
As if a girl with Eleanor's spirit could bear to 
think of aiming at a coronet. Not but what a 
coronet would suit her. And such a proper young 
man too— a lecturer in Greek he said he was — in 
Greek ! As if any noble lord ever knew Greek ! 
Oh! but it was a lovely time. {Turns over the 
leaves and sighs.) Here's Derwentwater ! Here's 
the hotel where we said good-bye — a very sad and 
stupid good-bye it was. Those poor boys — they 
had been deceivers — yes, one could not forgive that 
— but they looked just too wretched and miserable 
for words. I sometimes wish — {sighs again). I've 
looked in the papers, but I have never found any 
mention of the noble lord. I suppose he is pur- 
suing his profligate career in obscurity. Yet he 
did not look it. I declare he looked just what an 
honest, hardworking, truthful young man should 
look — that and nothing more. And there's Jem — 
they called him Jem. Oh well ! it's no use. We 
shall never set eyes upon either of them any more. 
Yet — as to Nell — it's my belief she thinks about 
him still. 



II] PEER AND HEIRESS 125 

VOICE {outside) 
Here we are ! What a splendid view ! Take 
the things in, will you ? You go on to look at the 
Falls, old man, I'll join you directly. 

MAMIE {Jumps) 
Why — why — why — that's his voice — that's 
Jem Sevenoke's voice. I should know that voice 
anywhere. Oh! Heavens! Jem Sevenoke 1 We 
shall see him again ! Jem! Oh ! But I suppose 
he's got his wife with him — the girl he didn't care 
about. He must be taking his honeymoon in the 
States. 

[James enters carrying a handbag, NEGRO 
comes after with portmanteaux, &c. He 
goes to hotel clerk and converses about 
rooms. 

MAMIE 

Good Gracious ! He seems alone. Yet he 
was talking to some one. He said * Old man.' I 
wonder if an Englishman on his honeymoon gener- 
ally calls his bride ' Old man ' ? They're very un- 
like us. It's quite possible. This decides me never, 
never, never to marry an Englishman. Nobody 
shall ever call me * Old man.' 

[James concludes his business^ andy turnings 
meets MAMIE. 



126 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

MAMIE 
Mr. Sevenoke ! 

JAMES 
Mamie ! If it isn't Mamie ! I mean Miss 
Elgood. Who on earth would have expected 

MAMIE 
Who would have expected to meet Mr. Seven- 
oke ? You are on your honeymoon, Mr. Sevenoke ? 
Is it your wife you have left behind in the carriage ? 

JAMES 

My wife ! I haven't got a wife ! 

MAMIE 

But — you told me — you said — that you were 
engaged. 

JAMES 

So I was. But you see in this case the expected 
— at least I expected it — happened ; the young 
lady discovered that she wanted somebody else — 
and, well, that's all. 

MAMIE • 

Oh yes. Of course, that's all. 

AMES 
That is — its all of that— all of that. Why, is 



11] 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



127 



there, if one may ask, any — has there —has there 
— arrived any — is there anything ? 




'MAMIE! IF IT ISiN'T MAMIE ! ' 



MAMIE 

I don't know in the least what you mean, Mr, 



128 PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

Sevenoke, but— I should say — I believe — I rather 
imagine — that there is nothing. 

JAMES {takes her hand and presses it) 
Then this is, I do hope, the most providential, 
accidental, coincidental meeting that ever was 
known. 

MAMIE {shows him sketch-book) 
There — you see— is my old sketch-book. 
There is the hotel where we had to say good-bye 
— such a dismal good-bye — all through your 
wicked deception. As soon as we found out, of 
course, there was an end. Did you suppose that 
Eleanor was the girl to go angling for a coronet ? 

JAMES 
Well, if that was all 

MAMIE 
Well, but it wasn't all If he really cares about 
her he would have come after her, lord or no lord. 

JAMES 
He couldn't. She gave him her address, but 
he tore it up when he learnt the news. You don't 
suppose that Ainslie was the kind of man to run 
3,fter a millionairess ? 



II] PEER AND HEIRESS 129 

MAMIE 

Millionairess ? Nell Ingress a millionairess ? 

JAMES 
You told me so yourself. 

MAMIE 
Oh! so I did. I quite forgot it. So I did. 
But were you so stupid as to believe me ? 

JAMES 
I don't believe everything, but I believed j/ou. 

MAMIE 
Nelly a millionairess ! Why, she teaches 
school — she's got a school here. She is coming to 
have tea with me directly. Oh, I was only joking ! 
But, of course, a noble lord would not stoop to an 
American schoolmarm. 

JAMES 
Well, if you come to that, Ainslie is not a noble 
lord. 

MAMIE 

Not a lord ? But you said he was. 

JAMES 
. So I did. I quite forgot it. So I did. But I 



I30 PEER AND HEIRESS [ACT 

didn't think you'd believe it. Of course, he isn't 
anything so disgraceful. I believe you think it 

disgraceful 

MAMIE 
Mr. Sevenoke, there's been a very serious mis- 
understanding, and it's our faults — our two faults, 
mind. Only you and me to blame. How shall I 
ever forgive myself? 

JAMES 
Well, Mamie, just to punish me, you shall 
devote the short remainder of your days to making 
me understand the full heinousness of that fault. 
Lifelong repentance will be a lively thing to con- 
template. {Takes her Jiand. 

MAMIE 
Not in the open hall, Mr. Sevenoke, if you 
please. But let me see — Nelly is coming here — 
why, here she is ! {^Runs to meet her.) Nell ! Nell ! 
guess who is here ! Mr. Sevenoke — you remember 
Mr. Sevenoke, dear ? Here he is ! Why, we 
never thought to set eyes upon him again ! Nelly, 
say you're glad to see him. 

ELEANOR 
How do you do, Mr. Sevenoke? I am very 
glad to meet you again. Is your friend Mr. — I 
mean Lord C^rleon— quite well ? 



11] 



PEER AND HEIRESS 



131 



JAMES 
Miss Ingress, there has been a great mistake 
— a very foolish thing it was — we have only just 




' NOT IN THE OPEN HALL, MR. SEVENOKE, IF YOU PLEASE ' 



found it out You thought Philip Ainslie was a 
peer. He isn't. He is plain Philip Ainslie, the 
son of a country clergyman— nothing more, believe 



132 PEER AND HEIRESS [act 

me, except Fellow and Lecturer at Christ's, Cam- 
bridge. I told Miss Elgood so, just to mystify her 
a little. I never dreamed of the mischief it would 
cause. 

MAMIE 
Yes, dear, and Mr. Ainslie thought you were a 
millionairess. It was my doing, dear, and I never 
thought of the mischief it would cause. 

ELEANOR 

Thought me an heiress — a millionairess ? Oh ! 
but how could he ? 

MAMIE 

I told Mr. Sevenoke so. Oh ! I never thought 
he would take it so seriously. 

JAMES 
Fortunately, here comes Philip himself Say 
you forgive us, Miss Ingress. 

[Philip comes down surprised. 

ELEANOR 
It seems, Mr. Ainslie, that we parted with 
some misunderstanding. I thought you were a 
peer. 

MAMIE 

Misunderstanding on both sides, Mr. Ainslie. 
You thought Eleanor was a millionaire. 



II] PEER AND HEIRESS 



133 



PHILIP 
I — well — I was told so. 




' IF IT PLEASES MY LORD ' 



134 PEER AND HEIRESS [act li 

MAMIE 
Well — she isn't, then. She's just a plain school 
teacher. Mr. Sevenoke — Jem— they call you Jem, 
you know— will you come and have tea? 

\_They go up stage. 

PHILIP {after a pause, moves a step nearer. 

Eleanor stands with folded hands and bowed 

head. PHILIP holds out his hand) 

Miss Ingress — Eleanor— shall we take up our 
conversation where we broke it off — heiress and 
millionairess of every best gift that the world has 
to offer ? 

ELEANOR 

If it pleases my lord. 

CURTAIN. 




DRAMATIS PERSONS 

HAROLD ANQUETIL (Dramatist. Owner of a ruined 

sugar estate in the island of Palmista) . . Aged 25. 

DR. WALFORD (General Practitioner) .... Aged 45. 

MR. THOMAS VIGORS (Financier) .... Aged 36. 

EDITH ALGAR (Harold Anquetil's fiancee, a nurse) . Aged 22. 

BOY MESSENGER. 



Harold is dressed in a brown velveteen jacket, 
zuithout zvaistcoat, silk scarf round waist, slip- 
pers. He is pale and weak. EDITH is dressed 
as a nurse, zvitJi long white apron. Dr. Wal- 
FORD is in ordinary morning outdoor dress. Mr. 
Thomas Vigors zvears a profusion of jewelry 
and a fur overcoat. 

Scene —A poorly furnished 7'ooin in a lodging-house 
on the second floor. A n easy chair with pillow 
before the fire. A horse-hair sofa —a table with 



136 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

papers — a chiffonier with tea-pot and tea-cups 
upon it. A kettle on fire — an empty book-case. 
Tzvo doors — a bedroom door and a door to the 
stairs, TIME — Afternoon. 

EDITH {tidying the rooin) 
My patient asleep at last, after his restless night. 
{Opens door and looks in, leaving it open). Yes, 
sleeping like an infant He is certainly better, and 
so I shall soon have to tell him what I have done. 
Every single thing pawned : his clothes, his watch, 
his books — nothing left. What will he say when 
I do tell him? And — will it throwback his re- 
covery } Or — will he indeed recover ? It is a 
terrible thing to nurse your own lover. I would 
not trust him to strange hands — no — no — {rises and 
walks about) ; and yet — and yet — to sit by his bed- 
side night and day ; to watch the light of life 
flickering ; to feel that any moment may extinguish 
it, and to keep all this pain and anxiety to oneself ! 
If even now Harold should die! Harold! My 
Harold ! Oh ! no — no — no ! And now there is 
no money, and I know not where to turn for more. 
Harold has no friends that I know of. Nobody 
can be more friendless than a colonist newly arrived 
in London. His estate produces nothing I know. 
Not one single friend has he in all London, except 
me. Well, he must go back to his native island 



nd 1 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 137 

again. The Doctor says that the one chance is a 
return to that warm air of the West Indies. 




'YES, SLEEPING LIKE AN INFANT' 

Sound of steps outside, as on a carpetless stair. 
Knock at door. Enter Dr. Walford. 

DOCTOR 
What a day ! Snow and a black north-easter. 
How's your patient, nurse ? 



138 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

EDITH 
He is asleep. He had a bad night. Now he 
has slept for five hours. 

DOCTOR 
Good. No return of fever ? Good. ( Warms 
his hands at the fire.) But, no doubt, still very 
weak ? 

EDITH 
Yes. 

DOCTOR 
Well, you know what may happen. This cold 
weather is most unfortunate for him — most un- 
fortunate. With warm, dry weather he might re- 
cover strength. As it is — {shrugs his shoulders — 
warms his hands by the fire) — as it is An in- 
teresting case. 

EDITH 
Yes : an interesting case. 

DOCTOR 
He is a man — to the medical man all other 
men are interesting — and he has got a disease which 
ought to be driven out. Therefore he is doubly 
interesting. 

EDITH 
Ought to be driven out ? 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 139 

DOCTOR. 
But there is only one way. He must be sent 
back instantly to his native place, where there is 
no winter. Why — what on earth are you crying 
about ? Nurses don't cry over their patients. 

EDITH 
No — no — but you don't know, Doctor Walford. 
I have never told you. Harold is more than my 
patient. He is — my — lover. I am engaged to 
him. 

DOCTOR. 
Oh ! I see. Yes. Oh ! Yes— yes. Ah ! 

EDITH 
When he fell ill I could not leave him in strange 
hands. So I came — and you know the rest. 

DOCTOR 
You have nursed him night and day for six 
weeks. But for that he would have died. 



EDITH 

Oh ! Doctor Walford — if he is to die after all ! 

DOCTOR 
There is one chance for him. Take him on 



I40 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

board ship and carry him back to the West Indian 
sunshine. 

EDITH 

Oh ! If I could— if I could. 

DOCTOR 
May I, without impertinence, learn something 
of the position of affairs with our patient ? 

EDITH 
His estates have become worthless. They pro- 
duce nothing. He is a poet and a dramatist — as 
yet — without success. When I came, there was 
some money — a few pounds. That is all gone, 
and I do not know if he has any left. 

DOCTOR 
All gone ? 

EDITH 
And to-morrow a week's rent due. 

DOCTOR 
I have observed {warms hmtds at fire) — we 
general practitioners do notice things — a gradual 
disappearance of various objects — eh ? ( Turns and 
waves hand ai^ound.) There was a watch and chain 
on the dressing-table, a dressing case, a portman- 
teau, great coats and things hanging behind the 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 141 

I door, a case full of books. Where have those 
things gone ? 

EDITH 
They are pawned. I had to find money for the 
daily necessaries. 

DOCTOR 
There was another gold watch and chain— and 
a ring or two. 

EDITH 
Mine are gone the same way. But that matters 
nothing — if only {sighs). 

DOCTOR 
My dear young lady, all this is very serious. 
Is there no one who will lend you — or him — the 
money ? 

EDITH 
No one. My own friends are in Australia. His 
are in his West Indian Island. There is no one 
to whom I can turn. 

DOCTOR 
It is serious — very serious. Let me look at you. 
What did you have for dinner to-day ? 
[Harold opens bedroom door and stands listening. 

EDITH 
Some bread and butter. There is no money. 



142 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

DOCTOR 
And yesterday ? 

EDITH 

Oh ! what does it matter ? Bread and butter. 




*IT IS VERY— VERY SERIOUS. LET ME LOOK AT YOU 

DOCTOR 
Always bread and butter ! What are you 
going to do, then ? 

EDITH 

I don't know. Perhaps Harold can get at some 
money. 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 143 

DOCTOR 
You don't know — you don't know ! Are you 
going to starve, then ? Pretty sort of nurse you 
are. But — stop — about this rent. If it is paid 
to-morrow you will be undisturbed for a week. 
That will allow time for developments. (Aside) 
If he remains another week in this cold, with 
insufficient nourishment, why that other week 
will settle him. {Aloud) Observe, Miss Algar, 
the G.P. — the man with the Red Lamp — never 
has any money to spare. Else he wouldn't be 
a G.P. But he can sometimes help. Just now, I 
remember, rather luckily, that the landlady down 
below owes me a trifle for medical attendance. I 
will speak to her as I go out. It will be all right 
about the rent. 

EDITH 
Oh, Doctor Walford, but you cannot keep your 
patients as well as cure them. 



DOCTOR 
Well, well, we won't talk of that ; but now — 
stop a bit again — I remember, there was a little 
hamper came up from the country this morning — 
birds, sausages, eggs — country produce, in fact. 
They will be just the things to tempt your patient 



144 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

EDITH 

But, Doctor Walford, this is too generous. How 
can we take these things ? 

DOCTOR 
Yes, to be sure. Oh very natural. ( Warms 
his hand and talks into the fireplace^ Ah ! by the 
way, I've got in my cellar some port — in pints 
— ^just the thing for your patient. 

EDITH 
Oh! 

DOCTOR 
I'll send him some. Oh, I've got a huge cellar 
full. Well, that's all— feed him up — feed him up. 
That's all. But remember (Harold is still listen- 
ing at the open bedroom door) the only chance that 
remains for him — a good chance it is ; I'm sure it 
would give him a complete recovery — is to put him 
on board at once, and pack him off to his native 
island, where there is sunshine all day long. The 
only chance, mind. 

EDITH 
Is there no hope — else ? 

DOCTOR 
None. Absolutely none. He may die in a 
day or two — or in a week — but in this cold air — 
die he must — and die he will unless you take him 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 14^ 

to a warm climate. (HAROLD, unseen^ listens and 
nods his head}) Give me my gloves. So — now I 
go out again on my tramp. Courage, Miss Algar, 
courage. He is young, and youth is life. Courage, 
courage ! \Exit. 

HAROLD {at door) 
Edith ! 

EDITH {jumps Up with assumed cheerfulness^ 

Harold ! You are awake ? You are out of 

bed ? Come. {She leads him to the easy chair ^ 

Now sit down and keep warm. {She arranges the 

pilloivs for him.) You are to take strengthening 

food and — and 

[Harold looks strangely at her. She stops ^ 
confused^ and turns her head. 

HAROLD 
Edith, I was not asleep. I heard all that 
Doctor Walford said. 

EDITH 
All ? You— heard - all ? 

HAROLD 

All. Your devotion — and my doom. 

EDITH 

Oh 1 no — no— no — not your doom. 

L 



146 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

HAROLD 

Yes — my doom. I am to go back to the West 
Indies. It is my only chance. Else I must die — 
in a week — in a month. It is my only chance. 
My dear — I cannot take that last and only chance. 
I must die. 




SHE STOPS, CONFUSED, AND TURNS HER HEAD 



EDITH 
But it wants only a little money — just a little 
money. 

HAROLD 

I have no money. When I fell ill there were a 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 147 

few pounds. We have spent them. You have 
pawned or sold the things. There is now nothing. 
I have nothing in the world but an estate that has 
gone to jungle, on which no one would advance a 
shilling. 

EDITH 

Harold! Nothing? No help anywhere ? 

HAROLD 
No help anywhere. My poor Edith, it is sad 
for you — but — perhaps — you will forget me — after 
a while 

EDITH 
Oh, Harold, you break my heart. How can I 
leave you? Let me stay with you . . . till — till 
the end. I will try to find some way to get money ; 
there must be some way. If I could die for you, 
Harold ! Oh, if I could die for you ! Cannot 
Love help somehow ? Is Love to be nothing but 
anguish ? 

HAROLD 
No, dear ; Love is not all anguish. Even at 
such a time as this, it is Love the Consoler. My 
dear, it makes me happy only to think that I shall 
live in your heart. Perhaps — who knows ? — I shall 
take your love away with me. Let us think so. Let 
us speak of love while an hour remains of life. 



148 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

Think only that you have made me happy in these 
last days. 

EDITH 

Harold ! You must not — you cannot die ! 

HAROLD 
Well, we will not talk of that. Meantime I 
must make my will. What have I got to give you ? 
A bit of jungle land where there were once flourish- 
ing caneiields, and a portfolio full of papers — the 
poems that nobody will publish, the play that 
nobody will produce. I give these precious 
treasures all to you, dear. You are my only 
reader. 

EDITH 

Harold ! 

HAROLD 

And there they are — for you. When you read 
of love in them, remember that you were in my 
mind. When you read of fair women, remember 
that there was only one woman in the world for 
me. If you find anything that is good and true in 
them, remember that it was inspired by you. A 
poor gift, Edith, but it is — myself. 

EDITH 
Harold — you break my heart 1 



LOVED I NOT HOKOUR MORE 149 

HAROLD {laying portfolio on his knees and turning 
over leaves) 
They are all here — the ' Song of the Coral 
Reef/ the ' Song of the Flowering Cane/ the * Song 
of the Trade Wind.' I thought to win fame and 
fortune by these songs. What fame ! What 




' UNKNOWN, UNREMEMBERED 



fortune ! Well, everything is here except the play, 
and that is on its travels. You'll get it back before 
long, however. Fame and fortune ! What a 
dream ! And now I drop into the ocean of the 
past without a splash, without a ripple, unnoticed, 
unknown, unremembered. [Closes portfolio. 



ISO LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

EDITH 

Not unremembered, Harold. 



HAROLD 
Ah ! (^Pause.) Now we must be practical. I 
believe there is an institution somewhere called the 
Workhouse Infirmary. You must go there and 
arrange for my admission. 

EDITH 
Oh! 

HAROLD 
1 must not live out the last few days on charity. 
Go, dear. There need be no shame — I feel none. 
I have got to lie down and die somewhere. Why 
not among the other wrecks and failures of the 
world ? Go this very afternoon, Edith. 

EDITH {rises) 
Yes, Harold, if it must be so. 

[Puts on her bonnet and cloak. 

Servant enters 

SERVANT 
Please, there's a gentleman down below — name 
of Vigors — wants to see you. 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 151 

EDITH 
Vigors ? Who is he ? 

HAROLD 
Vigors ? There was a man of that name at 
home. He kept a general store. Perhaps it is his 
son, Tom Vigors. 

Enter VIGORS, answering 

VIGORS 

Yes, Tom Vigors — Tom. Always Tom to 
you, my dear fellow. Why — what is it ? {Looks 
round.) {Aside) Ah ! Very down on his luck. 
{Aloud) You don't look well. How are you^ 
Quite well ? {Shakes hands with a great affectation 
of friendliness?) Considering the news, I expected 
to find you jumping and dancing. What is it ? 
Let us sit down and have a talk of old days. You 
don't look as if the news had pulled you together. 
Ah ! the old days, when you used to gallop in on 
your pony to my father's office. What wonderful 
news, isn't it ? Who would have thought it in the 
old days ? 

HAROLD 

Yes, the old days. You at any rate seem 
prosperous. This looks like a change from the old 
days — from the days when =• 



152 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

VIGORS {quickly) 
From the desk — yes. 




ENTER VIGORS, ANSWERING 



HAROLD 
{Aside) And the white apron. {Aloud) The 
desk — yes. As for myself, you see I am ill. And 
I am not — prosperous. 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 153 

VIGORS 
Not prosperous ? Why, what would you have ? 
Well — never mind old days. Let's begin with the 
new days. Of course, you guess what I have come 
about ? 

HAROLD 

You will tell me. Sit down. Don't go, Edith. 

VIGORS 
Thankye, I'd rather stand. I mean business. 
Quite simple business. Directly I saw it in the 
paper yesterday {pulling out paper y which he hands 
to Harold) — but of course you have seen it. 
(Harold opens paper ^ reads without showing the 
least sign of astonishment and lays it on table) 
Yes — you saw it yesterday, of course — and you've 
had twenty-four hours to turn it over. 

HAROLD 
Go on I 

vigors 
Have you formed any plan of action ? If so, 
I'm your man to carry it out. No plan i 

HAROLD 
No. 

VIGORS 
f hen listen to my plan. I got your address 



154 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

from your lawyers, who told me that you were 
pretty low down. 

HAROLD 
Low down ? 

VIGORS 
I said : ' Now is the time for an old friend, a 
true friend. Strike while the iron's hot. Strike for 
your old friend, Tom. Strike at once,' I said. ' All 
the more if he is down on his luck.' That's what 
I said. 

HAROLD {repeats) 
Strike at once, ' Tom/ at once. 

VIGORS 
There's nothing sentimental about Tom Vigors. 
But where an old friend is concerned — why then 
you see 

HAROLD 
Then you have a plan. 

EDITH {takes up paper and reads it) 
* Gold in Palmist Island ! Rich veins of gold — 
great nuggets found.' Why ! on your island, 
Harold ? * Rush of people — formation of com- 
panies. Enormous rise in the value of estates.' 
Harold ! Oh ! have you read it 1 Have you 
seen it? 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 155 

HAROLD {quietly) 
I have just read it, Edith. Mr. Vigors comes 
to tell me about it. 



VIGORS {aside) 
He knew nothing about it ! Fool ! Ass ! 
Thickhead ! I might have got the estate for a 
song! 

EDITH 

Then you are rich, Harold, and we need not 

Oh! 

\Takes off her bonnet and cloak ^ and lays them 
down. 

HAROLD 
It appears, Edith, that there is gold on the 
island. 

VIGORS 
Gold ! Well, yes, so much gold that they are 
flocking to the place from every quarter. Gold I 
There just is gold. Now don't interrupt for ten 
minutes. This is my plan. You can't work a gold 
mine. I can't work a gold mine. You can't find 
those who will. I can find those who will. So we 
s'lall all stand in together, you and I, and the man 
who will run the show. That's fair, isn't it ? Why, 
of course it is. They've begun, already, to buy up 
the estates. Very good. Now I shall give you 
;^40,ooo, do you hear ? — ;^40,ooo {brings out pocket- 



156 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

book and gold pencil-case) for your estate. I have 
just come from the City, and I've seen my man. 
;^40,ooo down, as soon as the title deeds are in 
my hands. 

EDITH {snatches Harold's hand) 
Forty thousand pounds ! Oh ! It is a miracle ! 

HAROLD {quietly) 
Go on. Please go on. 

VIGORS 
I am quite fair and straight with you. Honest 
Tom always. You remember. Honest Tom. 
Everything is in your interest. {More play of 
pocket-book and gold pencil-case^ I shall transfer 
the estate to my name for ;^8o,ooo. You can't 
do without me ; I can't do without you. So we 
share alike. That's fair, isn't it ? 

HAROLD {coldly) 
Go on, if you please. 

VIGORS 
Then my man, who is behind me all the time, 
forms a company with a capital of ;^i 50,000, fully 
paid up — £1 shares — to catch the multitude. 
Now do you see ? 

HAROLD 
Not quite. But pray go on. 



I 



I 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 157 

VIGORS 
Why, you get ;^40,ooo for an estate gone back 
to jungle, and I get ^^40,000 for my share in the 
job, and my man gets ^^70,000. So, you see, we 
can't do without each other, and so we all share. 




* FORTY THOUSAND POUNDS ! OH ! IT IS A MIRACLE ' 

HAROLD 
All, yes, and — the shareholders ? 



VIGORS 
Oh ! the shareholders ! Well, shareholders are 



158 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

generally people who think they can get thirty 
per cent, instead of three — and there you are, there 
you are. 

HAROLD 

Yet there is a rush, you say. 

VIGORS 
At first. It's this way. When you've paid the 
directors and the secretary and the office expenses 
at home, and the engineers out there, and the 
labour expenses, it will turn out that the gold costs 
more to dig up than it can fetch to pay any divi- 
dend. So — in fact — well, you see, you see. 

HAROLD 

I do see — Honest Tom ! Always Honest 
Tom ! 

VIGORS 

Hallo ! Why, what's your caper } If it wasn't 
for the blessed Juggins who lives in the country, 
and believes everything that's printed in the pro- 
spectus, why, where are your company promoters ? 

HAROLD 

Where, indeed ? This, then, is what is called 
business in the City ? 

VIGORS 
Of course it is. And very good business too. 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 159 

HAROLD 
What do you think of it Edith ? 

EDITH 
Oh! Harold, it's like a dream. All this 
money flowing in — just now. It's like a dream. 

HAROLD 
Like a nightmare, rather. Come, Mr. Vigors, 
let me explain your scheme as I see it. 

VIGORS 
Well, show me that you do see it. We can't 
pay up, you know, till the conveyance is effected. 
But something down — say a hundred or two — or 
— not to haggle with an old friend 

HAROLD 

There will be no occasion for haggling. This 
is how the matter strikes me, who am not a busi- 
ness man. You propose to me that for the con- 
sideration of ;^40,ooo I should join you in a con- 
spiracy for the ruin of a great many ignorant and 
credulous persons, whom you will entice to their 
destruction by a flaring prospectus. It is a con- 
spiracy for wholesale robbery. 

VIGORS 
Robbery.? Robbery ? — really — Mr. Anqueti] 



i6o LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

— we never use that word in the City. We offer 
shares — that is all. And this is plain biz, good biz. 

HAROLD 
Really. Plain business ? 

VIGORS 
You are a poor man — that's staring me in the 
face. You are weak and ill — you want things. I 
offer you ;^40,ooo. You have got nothing in the 
world to do for it but sign a conveyance of your 
estate as soon as the document is ready. Meantime 
you shall have whatever you want in advance. 

HAROLD 

1 am a very poor man, Mr. Vigors. Your dis- 
cernment is not at fault. I am on the verge of 
destitution. I am at the very gates of death. 
Perhaps because these portals are opening for me I 
see somewhat more clearly than you the nature of 
the transaction which you propose, and I decline. 

EDITH 
Harold ! Your life depends upon it. Oh ! 
Harold — and mine. 

VIGORS 
Don't be a fool. But of course you won't be 
when you reflect a little, 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE i6i 

HAROLD 
I have reflected. 

VIGORS 
Come, Mr. Anquetil, no one would believe such 
a thing of you. Come now, look here, your ancestors 
had no compunction in driving hundreds of slaves. 

HAROLD 

No? 

VIGORS 
They got rich, they did, by their slaves' labour ; 
why shouldn't you get rich by the ignorance and 
greed of the world ? 

HAROLD 
Ah ! why not ? 

VIGORS 
It serves these people right : they want to get 
money without working for it : they want to get 
the niggers to work for them in the mines, 

HAROLD 
The niggers. Yes. 

VIGORS 
Well, what do we do ? We find 'em the niggers 
and we find 'em the mine, and if the mine don't 
pay after all, why, we've done our part and we've 
got our part. 

M 



i62 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

HAROLD 
Say our plunder. Your City view is not mine. 

VIGORS 
What ! Not yours ? Don't see it ? But, do 
you mean to throw away this chance ? Make me a 
proposal —only a proposal. Find some other way, 
man. It is a fortune to throw away. 

HAROLD 

Say no more. I will have no hand in this 
iniquity. 

VIGORS 

If you won't play, I can't. Mr. Anquetil 
{changing his tone)y remember — we belong to the 
same island. Oh ! I know. Your father was a 
rich man and proud of his descent, and mine kept 
the general store, and was a ship's steward to 
begin with. But we do belong to the same place — 
remember that — and I'm really a very poor man. 
These fine furs and things— I wear 'em to make 
people think I am rich. It is my only chance. I 
shall never get another. 

HAROLD 
No. 

VIGORS 
You must agree. Come, I will give you fifty 
thousand pounds — sixty thousand pounds — for 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 163 

your share. The estate is right plumb centre in 
the middle of the gold ; we can get the two estates 
on either side — but without yours the company 
can't be floated. Oh ! You must consider me. 




*I AM SORRY FOR YOU. BUT— NO ' 

HAROLD 
I am sorry for you. But — I don't see my way. 



VIGORS 
Young lady — persuade him. It is for his 
advantage. 

M 2 



i64 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

EDITH 

Harold, it is for your life. 

HAROLD 

No, Mr. Vigors, I shall probably be done with 
in a week or two. You can then make the same 
proposal to this young lady, who will be my 
heiress. 

VIGORS 

In a week ? {Looks at him doubtfully. Aside 
Humph ! If one was sure we could wait a week 
or a month before the run begins to slacken. 
{Looks carefully at Edith.) Perhaps the girl 
won't be such a fool. {Aloud) My dear friend, 
you must not talk that way. Of course you will 
get well. Let me be your banker meanwhile. 
And you will think over the scheme — this brilliant 
scheme. 

HAROLD 

To ruin the widows and the helpless ? Oh ! 
yes. I will think it over. 

VIGORS 
Fifty thousand 

HAROLD 
Had I fifty thousand lives to lose, they should 
all go rather than I would join you in this. 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 165 

VIGORS 
Fifty thousand lives ! Well — I will call again 
in two or three days and see. After a little reflec- 
tion you may come down from your heroics. For 
the moment, good-bye — and I wish you a return 
to common-sense. [Exz't. 

HAROLD {leans head on hand — silence for 
a minute. Looks uf) 
Is he gone, Edith ? 



EDITH 
Oh, Harold. Is it impossible ? 

HAROLD 

Quite impossible. Forget it, Edith. We are 
just as we were — that is all. Forget that fellow 
with his tricks and conspiracies. 



EDITH 
Oh ! It IS too cruel. Think again, Harold ! 
It is your life, my dear — ^your life — and mine. 
How can I live without you ? And there is no 
other way. 



i66 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

HAROLD 
No other way. Yet not this way. My dear — 
my love — in the years to come, when I have long 
been laid in an obscure grave, remembered by 
none but you, it will be a happiness for you to 
think that your lover would not sell his honour 
even to save his life. No, dear ; not even to save 
your dear self from grief 

I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
Loved I not honour more. 

EDITH 
No, dear, you could not. Yet — yet— oh, it is 
so cruel — so cruel ! [Sinks upon his shoulder, 

HAROLD 
Come, dear— what were we doing? I remem- 
ber. You were going off to the infirmary. Well 
— we are just where we were. Put on your bonnet. 
It is not quite the ideal end — a bed in a work- 
house infirmary, but these things move me not. 
Go, dear. 

EDITH (rises and puts on her bonnet and cloak — 
hesitates. Then leans over Ids chair) 
Harold ! I am unworthy of you. I never 
knew till now how much unworthy. Forgive me. 



LOVED I NOT HOxNOUR MORE 167 

Yes — I will go — I will go at once — to — to — the 
Workhouse Infirmary. 

\^Noise below — trampling of feet. 

BOY {outside^ 
No, I won*t leave it ; I've got to give it to the 
gentleman myself and to wait for an answer. 
{Noise of steps on stairs. BoY opens door?) Mr. 
Harold Anquetil ? 

EDITH 
Yes. What is it ? 

BOY 
From the Prince Theatre Royal. Wait for an 
answer. Immediate, please. 

EDITH 
It is a letter, Harold, from the Prince Theatre 
Royal. 

HAROLD 
I suppose they are sending back the play. Yes, 
read it, Edith. 

EDITH 
There is no parcel with it. It is only a note. 

\Reads. 

^ Dear Sir, — I have read your play and am 
greatly struck by the situations and the dialogue. 
I propose, as soon as we have agreed upon terms, 



i68 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

to put it in rehearsal, and to announce it as follow- 
ing the present piece— perhaps in six weeks. I 
should like to see you as soon as possible. There 
are certain slight changes which I would suggest. 
Can you come here this afternoon ? 

' Very faithfully yours, 
' Kemble Carlyon.' 




' IT IS ONLY A NOTE ' 



EDITH 



Harold ! 



LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 169 

HAROLD 
You can take off your bonnet and cloak, Edith. 
So, now sit down and write a note. Tell Mr. 
Carlyon that I cannot get out of doors just now. 
He will come here. 

[Edith writes quickly. Gives note to the Boy, 
who runs off. 




'LOVED WE NOT HONOUR MORE ! ' 



Edith turns to Harold. He holds out his 
arms. She bends over and kisses him. 



170 LOVED I NOT HONOUR MORE 

HAROLD 

Edith, the accursed gold shall He under the 
accursed jungle that hides it. As for me, my life 
is saved. I know that my life is saved. It would 
have been lost — ' Loved we not honour more ! ' 

Curtain 




DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Geoffrey Armiger 
Horace Caterham 



Emmeline de Lisle] 
Clarine de Lisle J 
Katie de Lisle 



Elder Sisters 



Place — A London Drawing-room. Time— The Present. 

ACT I 

( The Day after the Ball) 
I Scene — A London Drawing-room. Katie stand- 
ing at the window^ looking out. Emmeline at 
piano, playing. Clarine flozver painting at 
table. It is winter^ and a fire is burning. 



172 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

KATIE 
Oh ! How flat, and dull, and stupid, everything 
is after the dance. {Drums on window with 
fingers,) If only something would happen 1 

[ Walks about restlessly. 

CLARINE 
Things are always dull the morning after a 
dance. What do you want to happen ? 

KATIE 
Last night I was exactly like Cinderella. I 
had no ball-dress — I could not go — and at the very 
last moment, Auntie arrived with a beautiful dress 
— made me put it on — took me in her carriage, and 
then [Clasps her hands. 

CLARINE 
And then, as you justly observe, you did not 
dance furiously ; you sat out more than once ; with 
a certain Mr. Armiger, was it not ? 



KATIE 
His name is Geoffrey. 

CLARINE 
Oh ! You know his Christian name ? 



i 



THE SHRINKING SHOE ^73 

EMMELINE {looking Up) 

This was the waltz I liked the best. 

[Plays a few lines 




ka.€ g^i^l 



' THIS WAS THE WALTZ I LIKED THE BEST 



KATIE 

Mr. Armiger dances beautifully. His step 
suited mine perfectly. 



174 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

EMMELINE 
It is a pretty waltz. Here is another. 

\Plays a few more Unes, 

CLARINE 

Who IS Mr. Armiger, Katie? He's quite 
young. What is he ? 

KATIE 

Quite young ? Oh ! No. Why he is already 
twenty-one. He is an undergraduate at Cam- 
bridge. You can't call that quite young. But he 
is going to be a great man. 

CLARINE 
Ah 1 He gave you that information himself? 

KATIE 

He did — he knows what he can do. I don't 
know yet whether he is to be a poet, or a dramatist, 
or a statesman ; but he will be something great. 
Oh ! yes. Of that there is no doubt. 

EMMELINE (^from the piatio) 
Horace knows him, Clarine. He is Mr. Geof- 
frey Armiger, son of the Vicar of something, and 
first cousin to Sir Roland Armiger. He is quite 
poor, and has got his own way to make. If I were 



i 



I] THE SHRINKING SHOE 175 

you, Katie, I should wait till he had made a little 
of that way before I thought too much about him. 



KATIE 
Oh ! You think of it in that light ; I don't. 
Now, I am quite sure that he will most certainly 
win his own way. I adore success — and he will 
attain success. Oh ! it is such a splendid thing to 
be a man, just because every man can make him- 
self a Prince and King if he likes. 

EMMELINE 
You are a dear little enthusiast. (Jumps up 
from piano.) And a simpleton, and a goose. {Kisses 
her.) She shall have her Prince to think about 
— so she shall. Clarey, Horace said he would 
look in at five o'clock this afternoon. 

Enter SERVANT 

SERVANT (announces) 
Mr. Caterham. Mr. Geoffrey Armiger. 

Enter Caterham and Armiger 

HORACE 
Hope you are not too tired after last night. 



176 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

EMMELINE 
Not a bit, thanks. It was a really good 
evening. 

GEOFFREY {to KaTIE) 
I need not ask if you are too tired. Your looks 
anticipate the question. 

KATIE 

I am not in the least tired, Mr. Armiger. 

GEOFFREY 
I do not think I have ever enjoyed a dance so 
much. 

KATIE 
I am sure — but, you see, it was my first dance. 

GEOFFREY 
I am afraid you must have thought some of my 
talk somewhat — what shall I say — conceited? 

KATIE 
Not at all. Conceit is one thing, and not an 
agreeable thing. Ambition is another. 

GEOFFREY 
* By that sin fell the angels ' — yet what is youth 
without ambition ? 



I] THE SHRINKING SHOE 177 

KATIE 
Like a lame old man without crutches. Have 
you decided the particular form of your ambition ? 
Last night you were, if I remember rightly, divided 
between literature and law, or was it 



GEOFFREY 
It is not kind of you to remind me so keenly of 
foolish sayings, but, as a matter of fact, it was not 
law. It was 

KATIE 
Of course, I remember now. It was statesman- 
ship. 

GEOFFREY 
Yes, I shall be a Cabinet Minister ! 



KATIE 
Glorious ! But oh ! how difficult ! 

GEOFFREY 
Is there anything worth attaining that is not 
difficult ? Who, without endeavour, can win a place 
among great men ? 

KATIE 
Yes, you must work. 



178 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

GEOFFREY 
Who would not for such a prize ? 

[ They go up stage, 

Emmeline and Horace come down. Clarine 
takes he7' place at piano. 

EMMELINE 
He looks a nice boy, Horace. Perhaps he 
really may turn out very well. 

HORACE 
That's as may be, but certainly he's a nice boy, 
and if his cousin were to go off, he would be a rich 
boy as well. M 

EMMELINE 
Katie seems to like him. 

HORACE 

Why not ? It may be a boy and girl fancy, or 
it may be more serious. He begged me to bring 
him here. You don't mind, Emmeline ? 

[ TJiey zvalk up stage. 

Geoffrey and Katie come dozvn. Clarine goes 
on playing dance music softly. 

KATIE 
And you are going back to Cambridge to- 
moiTow? 



I] THE SHRINKING SHOE 179 

GEOFFREY 
Yes — to-morrow. I shall take back a very 
happy memory. May I call again when I come 
back to London ? 

KATIE 
If you will tell me all about your plans foi 
your future career. 

GEOFFREY 
If I feel that you take an interest in my striving 
plans. 

KATIE 

One is always interested in clever men's ambi- 
tions. 

GEOFFREY 
You talk as if you knew many clever and 
ambitious men. 

KATIE 
I don't know any — except you, Mr. Armiger. 

GEOFFREY 

It remains to be proved whether my abilities 
are equal to my ambition. 

KATIE 

Oh ! Yes, yes ! You must believe that — let 
me believe it. Oh ! Mr. Armiger, what happiness 



i8o THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

to be always getting higher and higher with all the 
world looking on. 

GEOFFREY 
I want no eyes except your own. 

KATIE 

Always growing wiser and always doing great 
things for your country. Oh ! {clasps her hands). 
It is so noble ! It is so great ! 

GEOFFREY 
You will look on } 

KATIE 
Always ! always ! 

Enter SERVANT with parcel. He gives it to 
Emmeline, who reads the address. 

EMMELINE 

To the Miss de Lisles. What a curious 
address ! Here is something for all three of us. 
\They all look at it — gather round— form group. 

CLARINE 
A brown paper parcel ! Let us open it. 

EMMELINE {opens it. Takes out a white satin or 
kid slippe'r) 
For the Miss de Lisles. This is unheard of 
One slipper cannot be for all of us. 



I 



THE SHRINKING SHOE iSt 

CLARINE 
Oh! I have it. It is Cinderella over again. 




'.>»5%j-^6 P;>ma4 



PUTS ox SLIPPER WITH EASE 



The slipper is for the one whom it fits. 

[T/iej/ all gather round and pass the slipper 
about, looking at it curiously and laughing. 



CLARINE 

Emmeline, you are the elder of the two elder 



i82 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

daughters. They were bad-tempered, I believe, 
and ugly. Try, dear elder daughter. 

HORACE {sets chair) 
Now. Emmeline. I am quite sure beforehand 
that it will not fit you. 

EMMELINE {takes off shoe and sits down. 

Geoffrey brings footstool and places it 

before the chair. Then he presents the 

slipper^ kneeling on one foot. She tries 

vigorously) 

No, It is no use. I cannot get my foot into 

the slipper. You try next, dear second elder 

daughter. 

CLARINE (same business) 
No, it's no use. I can't get my foot into the 
slipper. Now, Katie, it is your turn. 

XATIE {sits downy and places her foot for the 
slipper. Geoffrey on one knee presents 
the slipper. It goes on easily. Katie 
stands up and shows the slipper on her 
foot — she laughs and blushes) \ 

It is mine. I wonder who sent it. 

[Glances at Geoffrey, who turns his head. 
They all look at him, 

GEOFFREY 

An odd idea, indeed. I — I — fear I must be 









I] THE SHRINKING SHOE 183 

going. Good-bye. I shall remember last night 
and all that you have said. [Exit. 

HORACE {looking after him) 
He still possesses the attribute of modesty. 
Katie, it is a pretty slipper. 

KATIE 
I shall keep it — to remind me of my first ball — 

and 

EMMELINE 
And — and of what, dear child ? 

KATIE 
Of the Prince to be ! 

Curtain 



THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 



ACT II 

{Four years later.) 
Scene — The same. Emmeline and Clarine 
are now married. Katie lives on in the same 
house, 

EMMELINE {in walking dress ^ waiting) 
My husband promised to be here by five. It 
is now a quarter past. The fickleness of woman 
is nothing to the un punctuality of man. {fioes to 
tabhy turns over things^ Katie is not fickle, but 
she is very untidy. Always leaving things about : 
what is this } Why, like Mr. Wegg, she has 
dropped into poetry. {Reads aloud.) 

Oh ! tell me, willow wren and whitethroat, beating 
The sluggish breeze with eager homeward wing, 

Bear you no message for me — not a greeting 
From him you left behind — my Prince and King ? 

You come from far — from south, and cast and west : 
Somewhere you left him, daring some great thing : 

I know not what, save that it is the best : 

Somewhere you saw him — saw my Prince and 
King! 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 185 

You cannot choose but know him : by the crown 
They place upon his head — the crown and ring : 

And by the loud and many voiced renown, 
After the footsteps of my Prince and King. 

He speaks ; and lo ! the listening world obeys : 
He leads, and all men follow ; and they cling 

And hang around the words, and works, and ways 
As of a prophet — of my Prince, my King. 

Her Prince and King ! Well, if she's really wait- 
ing for that I begin to understand why she refuses 
everybody. As if she could expect a man to be 
made on purpose for her ! Her Prince and King ! 
How curious a fancy ! [Lays down verses. 

Enter Horace Caterham and Geoffrey 
Armiger. 

HORACE 
Sorry to keep you waiting, dear. I was en- 
gaged with Armiger on some legal work. You 
know my wife, Geoffrey ? 

GEOFFREY {looks a little puzzled) 
I think I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. 
Caterham before. 



l86 THE SHRINKING SHOE [ACT 

EMMELINE 
I think you came here once with my husband. 
It was some time ago, Sir Geoffrey. 




READS ALOUD 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 187 

HORACE 
Of course. Why, Geoffrey, there was a dance, 
and you fell half in love with my wife's sister, who 
was little more than a child then. Now she's a 
woman, and — well, perhaps you'll see for yourself 
Don't you remember the slipper business ? 

GEOFFREY 

Yes, yes. It all comes back to me — all 

EMMELINE 
I believe you sent the slipper. Sir Geoffrey. 



GEOFFREY 
I believe I did. How is your sister, Mrs. 
Caterham ? 

EMMELINE 
She is quite well, thank you. She lives here 
in the old house where our people have lived for 
two hundred years — and she writes poetry. 

GEOFFREY 

Poetry ? I can well imagine that, 
EM ELINE 

Here are some verses which I found on her 



i88 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

table just now. She is always dreaming about 
some one whom she calls her Prince — who is going 
to do something wonderful. 



HORACE 
Katie has reached the age of twenty-one, and 
she still believes in the man who is going to do 
something wonderful. 

GEOFFREY 
A robust faith. May I read the verses, Mrs. 
Caterham ? {She bows assent, and he takes them 
and reads three verses aloud. Then he breaks off, 
remembering^ ' Prince and King ! ' ' Many voiced 
renown ! ' Ah ! what has come of it ? 



EMMELINE 
Come of what, Sir Geoffrey ? 

GEOFFREY 
Oh ! I beg your pardon. I was thinking of 
something else — something forgotten. Forgive me. 

EMMELINE 
I will on one condition, that you dine with us 
to-night 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 189 

HORACE 
Yes —do, old chap ; and look here, Emmeline 
and I have to go out now — duty visits — but — Ah ! 
there's Katie's knock at the door — I know it. 
Wait a few minutes, and she'll come in and give 
you some tea. Till to-night. 

GEOFFREY 
Till to-night, then. 

\Exeunt HORACE and Emmeline. 

GEOFFREY {takes Up verses again) 
Somewhere you left him, daring some great thing : 

I know not what, save that it is the best : 
Somewhere you saw him — saw my Prince and 
King ! 

I remember it all : the sweet and eager face of the 
girl, and my silly talk about greatness. I was to 
be a Poet — or a Statesman — which ? I forget. 
Poet ? Statesman ? And what am I ? Pleasure- 
hunter. I live to enjoy the fruits of the earth. 
Pleasure-hunter. It is not a glorious profession. 
Four years ago I should have scorned it. Now — 
it seems as if there was nothing more possible for 
me. What is a rich man to do ? I wonder if she 
thinks — No ! That was impossible. Yet I told 
her that when I had done something great— 



190 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

Heavens ! what a fool I was ! — I would return and 
tell her. 

You cannot choose but know him : by the crown 
They place upon his head. 

I can't get the words out of my head — * My Prince 
and King.' I am a pretty sort of King : mine 
would be a pretty sort of crown. Yet four years 
ago I could think in that way-^and talk in that 
way, too. j 

KATIE {outside) 
Very well. I will write to Jier. 

Enter Katie I 

GEOFFREY I 

Miss de Lisle. I see you do not remember ' 
me. 

KATIE 
Oh ! yes ; and am so glad to see you again. 

GEOFFREY 

You are kindness itself ; but I see that if you 
have some memory of my face, you have forgotten 
my name. I am Geoffrey Armiger. I had the 
honour of making your acquaintance four years 
ago at a ball — your first ball — and was allowed to 
call the next day. 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE . 191 

KATIE 
Of course I remember. Now you are Sir 

Geoffrey Armiger. 

GEOFFREY 
Yes. I came into my cousin's title. 

KATIE 
Ah ! Yes. You have done nothing to win that 
title. 

GEOFFREY 
It is mine by inheritance, 

KATIE 
Have you done anything — since — to deserve 
that title ? 

GEOFFREY 
One does not deserve a title. One inherits it 

KATIE 
Yes. Inherited honours mean inherited 
responsibility. But of course you are working. 
You have ambitions. 

GEOFFREY 

I fear that I am not — what you would call^ 
working. 



192 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

KATIE 
I remember when we met four years ago — you 
had great ambitions — even very great ambitions. 

GEOFFREY f^ 

I believe — I know — I had. 



KATIE 

And what have you done with them ? 

GEOFFREY 
I have dropped them. 

KATIE 

What, then, have you done, then, since I saw 

you last? 

GEOFFREY 

Nothing much, I fear. Followed the occupa- 
tion — or the pursuit — or the profession of pleasure. 

KATIE 
It sounds a poor sort of profession — for a man's 
profession. 

GEOFFREY 

Terribly poor, isn't it ? Wears one out, you see, 
with nothing to show for it. 

KATIE 
Do you mean that you have thrown away all 
those fine ambitions and resolutions ? 



t 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 193 

GEOFFREY 
Every mortal one of them. The young man 
who amused you with his dreams is dead— dead 
and buried, I believe. 

KATIE 
What ? Have you really resolved to bury all 
those dreams that seemed so beautiful to me ? 

GEOFFREY 
Did they ? Did they really ? Perhaps it may 
yet be not too late to make them live again. 

KATIE 
Make them live ! It would be a great thing. 
But I fear they were only dreams. I shall 
never have such dreams again. 

GEOFFREY {takes Up paper of verses) 
Was it a dream about a Prince and King t 

KATIE 

Yes. But you could not understand it any 
more — now — even if you were to try. You had 
better go, Sir Geoffrey. There is Pleasure waiting 
outside for you with a bottle of champagne. 

GEOFFREY 

Ye§. 



194 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

KATIE 
And a pack of cards, I believe. I wouldn't wait 
any longer, if I were you. 



GEOFFREY {takes Ms hat) 
No. I think I have no business here. 

KATIE 
Don't you feel lonely without your ambitions ? 

I 

GEOFFREY 
I never feel anything. I never want anything. 



f 



KATIE 
You just order everything— you can order even 
success. 

GEOFFREY 
I don't want success. Whatever I want I buy. 

KATIE 
Honour. Achievement. Reputation. 

GEOFFREY 
Yes. And love and happiness. Oh! it is 
wpnderful what money will do. 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 195 

KATIE 

I congratulate you. Now, Sir Geoffrey, since 

you have become a complete stranger to me, and 

not the Sir Geoffrey I knew four years ago, is it 

not time ? [Points to door. 

GEOFFREY {lays down his hat again) 
Miss de Lisle, do you remember a certain 
slipper — a white satin slipper ? 

KATIE 
Yes. 

GEOFFREY 
Have you by any accident kept that slipper ? 

KATIE 
Yes. I have kept it because it reminded me 
of certain things — of hope — of courage — of possi- 
bilities. It is in this cabinet. (Opens drawer ^ takes 
out slipper in silver paper.) See how tarnished 
and faded it is. The silver buckle is black and the 
leather has shrunk. 

GEOFFREY 

No — let me look. No — it hasn't altered. 

[Takes it. 

KATIE {takes it back). 
It has altered. It has shrunk. You don't 



196 



THE SHRINKING SHOE 



[act 



know this kind of slipper. It is like the piece of 
shagreen in Balzac's story. It goes on shrinking 
as the original owner goes down hill. You were 
the original owner. 




I 



' SEE HOW TARNISHED AND FADED IT IS ' 



GEOFFREY 

Do you think you could put it on again ? 



J 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 197 

KATIE 
No, I am sure I couldn't. But I will try. {Sz'ls 
down ; tries.) No, you see, it won't go on. 

GEOFFREY 
Perhaps, with a little patience — a little good- 
will — a little coaxing. 

KATIE 

No. 

GEOFFREY 
Give me the slipper. Yes. I really think it 
has shrunk. It is a slipper bewitched. Miss de 
Lisle — Katie — do you think if one were to climb 
up the hill again that slipper would go back to its 
proper size ? 

KATIE 
You cannot climb up the hill again. I wish 
you could. Give me back the slipper. 

GEOFFREY 
If I were to keep it ? 

KATIE 
No, you shall not keep it. Pleasure is waiting 
for you with the champagne and the cards, and 
the love that you can buy. Go back to Pleasure. 



198 THE SHRINKING SHOE [act 

GEOFFREY 
Your sister gave me these lines. And I 
remembered suddenly — the young man who, 
perhaps, after all, is not dead. I think, if I could, 
I should like to take up those ambitions once more. 
Do you think I could } 

KATIE 
It would be far, far harder now than it was four 
years ago. You have got to recover the noble 
mind, the unsullied heart. Can you hope to do 
that? 

GEOFFREY 
Perhaps. 

KATIE 
You have fallen. Are you strong enough to 
rise? 

GEOFFREY 
1 <lon't know. If that slipper should enlarge 

again 

KATIE 

Oh ! How can a man say //"when he ought to 
say shall} 

GEOFFREY 
It shally then. I swear it shall. 

KATIE 
* Swear not by the moon,' but when that 
happens you may come again. 



1 



II] THE SHRINKING SHOE 199 

GEOFFREY 
I will. 

[Takes her hand. Goes. Stops in the doorway 
to look round, 

KATIE {recites the last verse of her poem) 
He speaks ; and lo ! the listening world obeys : 

He leads, and all men follow ; and they cling 
And hang around the words, and works, and ways, 

As of a prophet — of my Prince and King. 

GEOFFREY (returns swiftly) 
Katie! Let me come again before that 
happens. Not your Prince and King. That may 
never be — but for ever your servant and your 
scholar ! 

[Takes her hand and^ kneeling upon one knee^ 
kisses it. 

CURTAIN 




DRAMATIS PERSON.E 

Hugh Valentine, Cavalier Colonel in love with Lady Beatrice. 
John Tomlinson, Roundhead Colonel in love with Lady Beatrice. 
Vaughan, Serving Man. 

Lady Beatrice Graham, aged 21, Father killed at Worcester. 
Nell, Lady Beatrice's Waiting Woman. Father killed at Wor- 
cester. Almost same age as her mistress. 

Time— May 1660. 

Place— Lady Beatrice Graham's house in the Country. 

Scene — Hall of the house. If the space is very 
limited, call it Lady Beatrice Graham's boudoir. 
Not too much furniture. Portrait on the wall 
of a Cavalier. 

Nell discovered at work : sewing a silk dress at a 
table. Dress of the period for servants, neat and 
sober, white cap, white kerchief over her neck and 
shoulders. 



THE GLOVE 201 

NELL {looking up) 
There's more trouble ! Always more trouble ! 
Ay ! and always will be till the King comes back. 
As my lady is so fond of singing, 

' Then look for no peace, for the war shall never 
cease, 
Till the King shall come to his own again/ 

Yes, always more trouble. And my lady always 
in the thick of it. One of these fine days she'll be 
carried off to prison for treason. What a comfort 
it is to be a humble maid instead of a great lady ! 

Enter Lady Beatrice with a letter in her hand. 

LADY B. 
Nell ! Nell ! I have had news. Oh ! great 
news ! Glorious news ! 

NELL {looks up interrogatively) 
Yes, my lady? 

LADY B. 
Nell ! You are a faithful girl — a discreet girl — 
you are a sweet girl. In other words, you are a 
phoenix of maids. And, like me, Nell, you have 
memories to keep you faithful. Your father was 
well stricken in years when he went out to die 
beside my own father ; and I was a young girl of 
ten when they went forth together to die on the 



202 THE GLOVE 

field of Worcester. I remember them riding away. 
Your father, a brave man and a loyal, rode last as 
if to protect the others. 

NELL 
I remember, my lady. 

LADY B. 
And my brother rode in the same troop. Saw 
one ever a more gallant lad of eighteen ? 

NELL 

Yes, my lady, I remember well. Father was on 
in years, but he could strike a blow still. He used 
to swear a little, but he did his duty ; and he drank 
a little ; but mother always said that all was right 
with any man who died as father died. 

LADY B. {laying hand on NELL'S shoulder) 

Your mother is a brave woman, Nell. What 

can a man do better than to die for the right ? Ay, 

that wipes out all. But listen, Nell ; listen. Is 

there no one about ? j 

NELL 
No one, my lady. 

LADY B. 
This letter — this letter comes from Holland — 
from my brother Mercia, who is with the King. 



I 



THE GLOVE 203 

Listen. ' The times/ he says, ' are ahnost ripe. 
Noll gone to his own place — ' he means the Devil, 
the Earl always means well — ' the new man with 
no hold of the people, who have no fear of him 
nor no love of him ' — indeed that is true. 

NELL 
Yes, my lady. 

LADY B. 
You see, Nell, how well they understand things 
at the Hague. 'Tis a strange place enough for the 
King's Court, to be sure. 

NELL 
Yes, my lady. Where is the Hague? 

LADY B. 
In the Low Countries ; but back to our letter — 
' I must not speak out too freely in a letter; but, 
my dear, I will say this : Expect thy King in his 
own palace at Whitehall before many weeks, and 
thy brother back to his own house as soon as crop 
ears are turned out. Our messengers are up and 
down the country heartening the people.* 

NELL 
That they are, my lady. 

LADY B. 
'Tis a dangerous duty, and they who undertake 
it carry their lives in their hands. The messenger 



204 THE GLOVE 

who brings thee this may be trusted. But be careful 
in whose presence you speak to him. I will not 
tell thee his name.' 

NELL 
Not tell his name, my lady ? 

LADY B. 

* That is a surprise for thee. I have told his 
Majesty what I have said. He bade me add these 
words : " Tell thy sweetheart sister, Tom, that I 
will kiss her at Whitehall before all the Court." ' 
Nell, 'tis a gallant prince ! * Certainly, dear sister, 
none ever knew the King to break his word in 
such a promise as that. Wherefore be of good 
heart, forget the past, and look forward stedfastly 
and stoutly to the time when the King shall come to 
his own again.' Yes, Nell, yes — {Sings the refrain) 
* Then look for no peace, for the war shall never 
cease 
Till the King shall come to his own again.' 

Oh ! the old words. They ring in my brain. . . . 
It is like the morning when they rode away, Nell ! 
{Catches maid by the hand',) Yes, we can both re- 
member that day . . , they rode away — they rode 
away ... to die — two of them to die and the other 
to live in exile. My brother's life was saved by his 
friend Hugh Valentine, whom he loves so much. I 
would I could see that same Hugh Valentine. 



f 



THE GLOVE 205 

Well, we would send them again to-day on the same 
errand if need were — to die — to die — for the King 
— for the King ! {Sinks down and buries her face 
in her hands. Springs to her feet again and sings 
again) 

' Then look for no peace, for the war shall never 
cease 
Till the King shall come to his own again.* 

NELL 

Nay, mistress, be calm. Should Colonel Tom- 
linson hear ! 

LADY B. 

His ears are tingling, and so they may I 

NELL 

Should the servants hear ! 

LADY B. 

Let them hear 1 They will all join in the re- 
frain — 

' Look for no peace, for the war shall never cease 
Till the King shall come to his own again/ 

NELL 

The people are not all to be trusted, my lady. 

But yesterday I met that sour old saint, Win-the- 

Fight Sludge, the Sexton ; he was muttering as he 

r^alked along. When he saw me, he lifted up his 



2o6 THE GLOVE 

head and said, * Go tell your mistress there's men to 
fight now as there were men to fight then. Another 
Worcester field shall send them flying again.* 
There had been drinking of the King's health at 
the tavern. 

LADY B. 

Let him talk. We will continue him, when we 
have all come back, to dig the graves. It suits his 
mood. But, Nell, where is the messenger? Who 
brought this letter ? My brother said it would be 
a surprise. Go, look upon him. Give him food and 
drink. 

NELL 

He is on the terrace, my lady. {Goes out^ 
returns?) Madam, it is a gentleman. 

LADY B. 
A gentleman ? A gentleman ? Then— then — 
it must be one of the messengers of whom my 
brother speaks. Go, bring him here. {Exit Nell.) 
Oh ! if it can be true ! If I shall see the King — and 
my brother banished for nine long years — and per- 
haps the gallant Colonel Valentine who saved my 
brother's life and is my brother's dearest friend ! 

Enter COLONEL Valentine. Nell waits with 
folded hands at the door, 

VALENTINE {bowing low) I 

Lady Beatrice ? i 



THE GLOVE 207 

LADY B. 

Pray be welcome, Sir. You come from the 
Hague recently? 




HE RAISES HER HAND AND KISSES IT 

VALENTINE 

Quite recently, Madam, as the letter which I 
brought with me has doubtless told you. 



2o8 THE GLOVE 

LADY B. {looking at him curiously) 
My brother is well ? 

VALENTINE 
He is quite well, and hopeful. 

LADY B. 

And — and — he said that I should receive a 
surprise. Sir, there is a gallant gentleman about 
the King of whom I would fain ask news. He is a 
gentleman whom I have only seen once, when I was 
a little girl ; but he saved my brother's life, being 
a very valiant gentleman, and he is my brother's 
dearest friend, and — I should like to ask about him, 
or, better still, to have speech with him ; and I think 
that you are none other than that valiant gentle- 
man, Hugh Valentine. 

VALENTINE 

Madam, I am Hugh Valentine. 

LADY B. 
Then, Sir, I thank you. Can I say more? 
There are no words that can say more. {Offers 
her hand. He takes off his glove^ throws it on the 
table and kneels to kiss her hand?) Sir, it is now 
nine years since you dragged my poor brother 
off the field. Oh ! Colonel Valentine, what can I 
say ? — where find words of gratitude ? Oh ! loyal 



THE GLOVE 209 

friend and brave soldier ! In my brother's name 
you are welcome here. For his dear sake all that 
this poor house contains is yours. 

VALENTINE 

Nay, Madam. Best to say nothing, believe me ; 

all that is old history. Shall I tell you about your 

brother ? 

LADY B. 

Why did he not tell me who was the bearer ? 

But he said it would be a surprise. It is indeed a 

surprise, a joyful surprise. Yet I must not forget. 

There is danger, which you love. Tell me of — 

the King. Does all go well ? 

VALENTINE 

All goes well. We wait only to see which way 
inclines the army. Meantime there are many like 
myself going from house to house to sound the 
heart of the country. If I read the signs aright, a 
few more weeks or days — and then 

NELL (runs in hurriedly) 
My lady, my lady! Colonel Tomlinson is 
marching across the Park towards the house with 
a posse of men armed with pikes and firelocks. 

LADY B. 
With a posse of men ? Then, Colonel Valentine, 

P 



2IO THE GLOVE 

he is coming to seek for you. Who betrayed you ? 
Did you pass through the village. Did any one 
speak to you ? 

VALENTINE 
One spoke to me — a sour, crop-eared knave, 
who looked like an ill-bred fiend. He was so kind 
as to tell me his highly distinguished name — 
Win-the-Fight Sludge. 

LADY B. 
'Twas the Sexton. He must have made some 
guess and gone straight to Colonel Tomlinson, like 
the meddlesome wretch he is. Well, quick, Nell ! 
quick, girl, thou art always ready. Should the 
Colonel fly? 

NELL 
Ay lady, it is too late. He cannot get across 
the open ground of the Park without being seen. 

LADY B. 
Then the secret room — the Priest's Chamber. 

NELL 
They found Lord Hexham there. The secret of 
the Priest's Chamber has been already discovered 
once, and might be again. But, my lady, Colonel 
Valentine, there is always a chance of a disguise 
baffling pursuers. 

LADY B. 
Not friendship forme — not thelovehe professes 



THE GLOVE 211 

would stay Colonel Tomlinson's hand a moment. 
He will arrest you if he finds you— and once 

arrested Oh! {Clasps her hands^ They know 

nor ruth nor reason. Oh ! Colonel Valentine — that 
you should run this cruel peril — for me. 

VALENTINE 

Since it is for you, Lady Beatrice, could I 

regret it ? 

LADY B. 

Quick, Nell ! What disguise shall the Colonel 
put on ? 

NELL 
He IS the same height as Vaughan, your lady- 
ship's serving man. He might masque as 
Vaughan. 

LADY B. 
True, true ! It must be done at once — the 
Colonel's cavalier clothes must be hid in the Priest's 
Chamber. Hurry, hurry ! Colonel Valentine, we 
will talk when Colonel Tomlinson has gone — if we 
get the chance. Quick ! quick ! 

\Exeunt Nell and Colonel Valentine. 

LADY B. {looks out of window) 

Here they come, the Colonel and his posse. 

How determined he looks ! Ah ! how good and 

great a man is there spoiled by his party and his 

religion. What shall we want the pretended 



212 



THE GLOVE 



Vaughan to do ? He must bring in some wine. 
He must pour it out. That is not much. Men 
like Colonel Tomlinson do not regard a serving 
man. They never look such an one in the face, 




'HERE THEY COME— THE COLONEL AND HIS POSSE ' 



The King escaped as a serving man. Oh ! it will 
be a quarter of an hour only : a formal search of 
the house ; then he will go away again and search 
the Park and gardens. {T^'auip of feet outside?) 



THE GLOVE 213 

Here they are. {Enter COLONEL TOMLINSON.) 
You are welcome, Colonel Tomlinson. You would 
be more welcome without your company of armed 
men. What mean you, Colonel ? Am I to be 
arrested? Come in and let me know what I have 
done to be honoured by this visit of an armed 
posse ? 

COLONEL T. 
Forgive me, Madam. {He turns round and 
speaks to men outside^ Six of you stay without. 
No one is to leave the house. The rest remain 
in the hall, waiting orders. Lady Beatrice, believe 
me, I am troubled thus to intrude upon you. My 
rsason is this. The country is filled with agitators 
and emissaries of the Young Man 

LADY B. 
You mean, of the King ! 

COLONEL T. 
Call him as you will. They are going in dis- 
guise from house to house, from village to village. 
They fill the minds of ignorant people with hopes 
that cannot be realised ; they preach another 
rising ; they want more bloodshed. 

LADY B. 

They might be better pleased with a bloodless 
revolution. 



214 THE GLOVE 

COLONEL T. 
They prepare the way — a way that will be 
rough and rugged. 

LADY B. (sings in a low voice) 
'Till the King shall come to his own again.' 

COLONEL T. 
As for these messengers of rebellion, one of 
them passed through the village just now, called 
for a stoup of wine at the inn, told the people to 
expect the Young Man soon, and then entered the 
Park and came to this house. 

LADY B. 
To this house ? To this house ? Where then 
is he ? In the kitchen ? 

COLONEL T. 
I fear that he is not in the kitchen. 

LADY B. 

Colonel Tomlinson, you have always expressed 
a great friendship for me. 

COLONEL T. 
More than friendship, Madam. 

LADY B. 

' Then — more than friendship — if you please to 

call it so. Now is the time to prove that friendship. 



i 



THE GLOVE 215 

If the man is here, let him depart in peace. Take 
your soldiers away and let this person — if he is in 
the house — go unmolested. 

COLONEL T. 
Should I be worthy of your friendship, Lady 
Beatrice, if I were guilty of treachery to my 
cause ? 

LADY B. 
Treachery to But I must needs be silent. 

COLONEL T. 
Alas ! Madam, we must both practise patience 
and silence. Lady Beatrice, I must, as it is my 
duty, search the house. 

LADY B. 
As you please. I will tell my women to throw 
the rooms open. \_Exit. 

COLONEL T. (sees glove on table— takes it up — 
examines it) 
{Aside) Ha ! where the glove is, the owner is 
not far off. Then he has been here. I believe it is 
the most active of all : Hugh Valentine ! the old 
friend of her brother the Earl. Yes — this must be 
his glove. He is here! and I must arrest him, 
and the end is certain. Then farewell to Lady 
Beatrice ! It must be done. Though he may be 
my rival, I hate to do it ; but it must be done. {Goes 



2l6 



THE GLOVE 



to door^ calls men.) Four of you to basement and 
cellars. Look behind every cask. Take lights, and 
leave no corner unsearched. Four of you — you — 
you four — take the rooms on the ground floor. 








^ 




&/ 


'^^y%^^^ 










' A 


GLOVE . 


A 


gentleman's glove 





■J 

f 



The rest upstairs — search in every room — search 
the roof, the chimneys, the garrets ; look in every 
cupboard and under every bed. {Stands back to 



THE GLOVE 217 

let Lady B. enter. She comes in ^followed by Nell 
and Colonel Valentine disguised as serving 
man: his hair pulled over his face ; a napkin over 
his left arm. Nell takes her work again. COLONEL 
Valentine stands in the comer ^ ready to obey when 
ordered. Colonel Tomlinson, luhen the men 
have gone off tramping to their work, turns back to 
the room.) 

COLONEL T. 
I trust, Madam, that this trouble to your house- 
hold will not occupy many minutes. I confess that 
I hope the malignant has escaped. He will be 
arrested sooner or later, and I would prefer that 
he should be arrested outside your house. 

LADY B. 

The trouble, as you call it. Colonel Tomlinson, 
of your presence and that of your friends has gone 
on for a good many years. A few house searchings, 
more or less, matter little. We are, however, in 
hopes that there may be a change as to this. But 
I forgot. Vaughan, be so good as to bring a flagon 
of wine. [£;ir2V Colonel Valentine. 

COLONEL T. {^oes to door ; looks out.) 
Well? 

VOICES OF MEN 
Nothing in the cellars. Sir, 



2i8 THE GLOVE 

COLONEL T. 
You are sure ? You searched everywhere ? 

MEN {tramping downstairs) 
Nothing in the rooms above, Sir. 

COLONEL T. 
You searched every room — garret, roof, 
chimneys ? 

MEN 

Every room, Sir, and the chimneys. 

COLONEL T. 
There are the stables. Go search the stables 
and the gardens. {Returns to room!) Lady j 
Beatrice, I am happy to report that this man of 
whom we are in search is not in the house. 

Enter WiN-THE-FlGHT SLUDGE, the Sexton. He 
carries in his hand the COLONEL'S embroidered 
coat. 

SLUDGE 

They did not look in the Priest's Chamber,; 
Colonel — I knew the room. 'Twas there we found 
Lord Hexham whom we took to London, where he 
w^as beheaded. In the Priest's Room I found these 
things. {Shows coat.) 'Tis the scarlet coat of the 
man who passed through the village ; the man to 
whom I spoke ; the man we are looking for. 



THE GLOVE 219 

COLONEL T. 
I knew it — he has been here —he must be here 
still. {Goes to door?) Let four men watch the door. 
Search the house once more from top to bottom. 
He must be here somewhere. 

Enter Valentine bearing tray with wine and two 
silver cups upon it. Offers to Lady Beatrice, 
who pours out a little and holds the cup tn her hand. 
He offers to COLONEL Tomlinson, who fills a cup 
and takes it off the tray. Notices servant's hands. 

COLONEL T. 
(Aside) Ha ! Hands rather white and shapely 
j for a servant. {Looks at his face.) And face, humph ! 
not a familiar face. I have never seen this fellow 
at the Hall before. 

LADY B. 
Will you pledge me. Colonel ? 

COLONEL T. 
Madam, it is my honour so to do {still looking 
at Valentine). 

SLUDGE {whispers dOUd^YA. TOMLINSON) 
Sir, sir, a word — this servant is no sci-vant : he 
is the gentleman whom you seek. 

COLONEL T. 
Silence. I understand. You can leave that 
coat and go. \Exit Sludge. 



220 THE GLOVE 

COLONEL T. {shuts the door , points to coat and to glove, 
addresses VALENTINE) 

Sir, if you will be good enough to take off this 
disguise of a lackey and to put on this coat and to 
take up your glove, I believe that I shall be speaking 
to Colonel Hugh Valentine, lately arrived from the 
Hague, as one of the followers of the young man, 
Charles Stuart. 

VALENTINE 

Sir, you are right. No need to change my 
coat, it is always that of a loyal subject of the King. 
My glove ? (COLONEL TOMLINSON hands it to 
him.) I thank you, Sir. 

COLONEL T. 
Sir, you are my prisoner. I am a magistrate of 
the county, and I arrest you. 

VALENTINE ' 

I do perceive the fact. 



% 



I 



COLONEL T. 
Will you give me your parole, or will you be 
taken in hand by my men ? 

VALENTINE 

You have my parole, Sir. 

COLONEL T. 

Your business, I take it, has been to spread; 



d. 



THE GLOVE 221 

abroad sedition and to stir up to rebellion. This is 
a grave charge, Sir. 

VALENTINE 
All this, Sir, I assure you, I have considered and 
understand. There is no more to say. Shall we 
relieve Lady Beatrice of our presence ? . 

LADY B. 
Hugh! {She takes his hand. Z"^ COLONEL T.) 
Who told you that this was Colonel Valentine ? 

COLONEL T. 
That glove which I found on your table made 
me suspect. I knew that Colonel Valentine was 
abroad. I knew that he would come here from your 
brother. I saw that the hands of the serving man 
were not the hands of a servant, and I concluded that 
we had here none other than the man whom most 
we wanted — Colonel Hugh Valentine himself 

LADY B. 
Oh ! the glove ! — the fatal glove ! 

COLONEL T. 

Lady Beatrice, you must say farewell to my 

prisoner. Sir {to COLONEL V.), make your farewells. 

I will leave you alone with this lady for a few minutes ; 

I have your parole. {Exit COLONEL T. 



222 THE GLOVE 

VALENTINE 

Lady Beatrice, I thank kind heaven that it has 
allowed me once to look into your face and to kiss 
vour hand. {He raises her hand and kisses it.) I 
have so often, with your brother, who is almost your 
lover, talked over your perfections that — may I say 
it? 

LADY B. 

Colonel Valentine, say what you will, for oh ! 
my heart is breaking. Oh! my brother! my 
brother ! That you should lose such a friend 1 
And I — Oh ! But I will w-eep when nothing more 
can be done. Quick ! Let me think. They will 
take you to the Assize town — to London. They 
will try you. I will fall at the feet of this new 
man, this son of the Protector. j 

VALENTINE ] 

Nay, I fear that may not be. It will be a 
drum-head court-martial most likely. Let me say 
farewell. Dear Lady Beatrice. {Kneels on one knee 
and takes her hand.) Queen of my heart ! whom 
I have always loved, yet never till now beheld — 
farewell. {He rises, still holding her hand?) Oh ! 
we live a lifetime in such a moment. Farewell, my 
dear ; farewell ! 

[Ringing of church bells outside^ fanfare of 
trumpets^ shouting. 



I 



THE GLOVE 223 

LADY B {runs to windows) 
What is it ? They ring the church bells. 
There are men running across the Park. They are 
crying — what ? 

VOICES {outside) 
God save the King ! God save the King ! 

LADY B. {clutching VALENTINE by the hand) 
What? Is it — is it — is it — God save the King ! 

Enter Colonel T. 

COLONEL T. 

Whatever the varlets shout, you are still my 
prisoner, Sir. {Opens door.) What ho ! Guard 1 

Enter Win-the-Fight Sludge 

SLUDGE 

They are all tossing up their caps for the Young 

Man, Sir. They are all gone mad ; they are drunk 

with the blood of Babylon. They are all gone 

astray. The Devil has possessed them all — all ! 

\_Exit tossing up his arms. 

VALENTINE 

You see, Colonel, to remain a prisoner I 
must have a guard. I withdraw my parole. If — 
on the lawn {touches hilt of sword). 



224 



THE GLOVE 

VOICES 
God save the King ! God save the King ! 




'GOD SAVE THE KING!' 

COLONEL T. 
You are iree Sir. 



THE GLOVE 225 

VALENTINE 
In that case {takes cup of wine, offers it to 
Lady B.). In that case, Lady Beatrice, what say 
you ? 

LADY B. {takes the cup ; then holds it up and 
sings) 
' Then look for no peace, for the war shall never 
cease 
Till the King shall come to his own again.' 

{To Colonel T.) Friend, we have been friends 
when to be a friend to any of your party demanded 
the highest gifts on your side and the greatest faith 
on mine. Reverse the position, dear Colonel 
Tomlinson. Be now the friend of the conquering 
side. 

VALENTINE {takes the cup and holds it up) 
God save the King ! God save the King ! 

COLONEL T. 
I may not drink that toast with you. Madam, 
we have been friends - we shall remain friends — 
always and always, Lady Beatrice. I drink your 
health, I pray for your happiness, I kiss your 
hand. \Kneels a^td kisses her hand. 

CURTAIN 



226 THE SPY [SCENE 



THE SPY 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Georges Cadoudal . . • Leader in Vendue War. 
Michel le Robins . • « Serjeant. Foster-brother of 

Madeleine. 

MfiH^E DE LA TOUCHE . . The Spy. 

Paul The Village Fiddler. 

Peasant Soldiers, &c. 

Madame Landlady of the Inn. 

Annette Her Servant. 

Madeleine des Lieux Saints . Fiancee of Cadoudal. 

Time.— The War of Vendee. 

Place. —The Principal Room of the Inn of Lokmariaker. 

Scene 1. — Summer evening. Windozv at back 
with long bench or chairs underneath it. Doors 
R. and L. The l^ANDLADY seated in a high- 
backed chair looks on, knitting all the time. Men 
in rustic garb, with belts and cartridge boxes, 
each carrying a gun, come in gradually, half a 
dozen or more. They take off their hats to 
Madame; they shake hands with each other; 
they stack their guns in the corner and sit down 
in twos and tJirees playing cards, dominoes, dfc.^ 
at the back. ANNETTE, behind bench at R. 
corner ^ has an earthemvare tub in front of her into 



I] THE SPY 227 

which she is shredding vegetables and cutting 
bread for next day's soup. 

LANDLADY {pn rise of curtain) 
They will all be here presently. Annette, if the 
Captain and Mam'zelle want to be alone, go into 
the garden and cut lettuces. 

ANNETTE 

Yes, Madame. 

LANDLADY 

The tender lambs ! They see so little of each 
other. Annette ! 

ANNETTE 

Yes, Madame. 

LANDLADY 

In case the Captain takes his supper here, be 
ready with a chicken to roast 

ANNETTE 

Yes, Madame. 

LANDLADY 
Ah me ! The poor fellows must needs sup off 
broken heads, or worse, on the campaign. 

\^At the window appears the face t?/"M£H£E DE 
LA TOUCHE. He wears a sailor s jersey ; 
black hair over his forehead and hanging 
on his shoulders^ and a red flannel cap ; a 
pale face. He peers about, steps round to 
the door and enters. 

qa 



228 THE SPY [SCENE 

MJiHfiE 
Good evening, Madame. 



LANDLADY 
Good evening, friend. I don't know you. 
Where do you come from ? 

m£h£e 
From Sarziau— on the other side of Morbihan. 
My name is Jacques Candenac. 

LANDLADY 
Well, Jacques Candenac, what is your business? 
Have you been in the King's navy ? 

MtntE 
No — in fact Hush ! {^Points to ANNETTE. 

1 

LANDLADY ^ 

You needn't mind Annette. In this part of the 
world we are all true. You ought to know that if 
vou are a good Breton. 

I 

m£h£e 
Well — the fact is, we've got as fast a boat is 
runs across the Channel, and we load her with 
brandy. Now you know. 



rj THE SPY 229 

LANDLADY 
Well, there's no harm in that And what are 
you doing here ? 

MtHtE 
I want to join Captain Georges. He is in the 
village, is he not ? 

LANDLADY 
Perhaps he is ; perhaps he is not 

I cross the Channel to-morrow. I can take 
letters for him. 

LANDLADY 

Well — sit down. {Aside) Humph ! I don't 
like your looks, Jacques Candenac. (MfiH^.E goes 
to the door^ looks up and down the road curiously^ 
takes out pocket-book, makes notes) Annette, come 
here, child. You know Sarziau. Is there anyone 
there named Jacques Candenac, contrabandist ? 

ANNETTE 
No, Madame. No one. 

LANDLADY 
Then hold your tongue. [Meh£e returns. 

m£h£e 
A cup of cider, Madame, if you please. 



230 THE SPY [SCENE 

LANDLADY 
Annette, cider. 

Enter 1ST SOLDIER. 



1ST SOLDIER. 
Good evening, Madame. 

[Puts his musket in corner behind door 

LANDLADY 
Good evening. Annette, cider. 



Enter 2ND Soldier. 

2ND SOLDIER. 

Good evening, Madame. 

[Puts his musket behind door, 

LANDLADY 
Good evening. Annette, cider. 



I 

I 



Enter three more Soldiers, who say " Good 
evenings Madame^ 

LANDLADY 
Good evening, friends. Annette, cider. 

[ The men drink about and sing. , 

MEN 

The Blues are on their way, 
They think of yesterday ; 
They think of what to plunder and to borrow ; 



I] THE SPY 231 

They do not count the cost 
Of all that must be lost 
When the reckoning shall come upon the morrow ! 

Enter MiCHEL LE ROBINfi. 

MICHEL 
Steady, boys ; steady. Not too much cider. 
{Shakes hands with the Landlady.) The Cap- 
tain will be here directly. 

MEN {all together) 
The Captain ! Captain Georges ! 

MICHEL 
Well spoken, men ! There's no captain like 
Captain Georges ; not one in the world. 

MEN 
Not one ! Not one ! 

MICHEL 
Who is it makes the Blues to break and fly ? 
The Captain ! Who leads us on to victory after 
victory ? The Captain ! 

MEN 
The Captain ! The Captain I 



232 THE SPY [SCENE 

Enter MADELEINE. 

MICHEL 
Mam'zelle, you are welcome ! The place is 
rough, but the hearts are true. 

MADELEINE 
Brave soldiers, I come to wish you God speed. 

MICHEL 
We are all of us your servants, Mam*zelle, and 
none more than Michel le Robin6, your foster- 
brother. \She holds out her hand. He kisses it. 1 

LANDLADY 

Annette, cider. 

[Annette offers pannikin to Madeleine, 
who raises it. 

MADELEINE I 

Friends and brothers all ! {Drinks^ To the 
King! 

MEN 
To the King ! 

MADELEINE 

To the Captain ! {Drinks, 

MEN 

To the Captain I {Drink. I 



I] THE SPY 233 

Enter PAUL, the village fiddler. 

LANDLADY 

Welcome, Paul. You come just in time to give 
us some music. 

[Paul sits down and begins to play. MADE- 
LEINE holds up hand to command silence^ 
steps into the midst and sings a song. 

MADELEINE {taking stage^ 
Gentlemen of the Army of Vendee, attention ! 

\Si7igs. 
So long as we draw breath 
We will fight the Blues to death, 
Their Master is the Master of to-day ; 
But a morrow sure will come, 
And with that morrow's drum 
We shall know how they value Vendee. 
Vendee for ever ! We break away and sever 
From the tyrant who is leading us to fall. 
We hold to the right, and may Heaven give 

us might, 
And our Captain, our Captain over all ! 

[Business of presenting arms. 
Captain Georges is a man. 
Captain Georges can act and plan. 
The Corsican is triumphing to-day ; 



234 THE SPY [SCENE 

But he counts without his host, 

Captain Georges is at his post, 

Captain Georges, Captain Georges for Vendee ! 

Vendee for ever ! Yield shall we never ! 

Though the tyrant may have millions at his 

call; 
We hold to the right, and may Heaven grant 

us might, 
And our Captain, our Captain over all ! 

LANDLADY 
Annette, cider. 

[Paul goes on playing. One or two of the 
men get up and execute a clumsy dance, 

MADELEINE {to MiCHEL, down Stage) 
There is trouble in your eye, my friend. I saw 
it when I came in. _ 

i 

MICHEL • 

The Captain has discovered treachery. There 
are villains abroad and anear. 



MADELEINE 

Here ? Among our brave Bretons ? 

MICHEL 

Traitors creep in everywhere. The Captain's 
plans have been betrayed. We shall move on at 



\ 



I] THE SPY 235 

once — this evening. The rendezvous has been 
suddenly changed. 

MADELEINE 
Do they suspect anyone ? 



MICHEL 
I do not know for certain whom the Captain 
suspects. But, Mam'zelle — people speak but ill of 
your cousin — of Meh^e de la Touche 

MADELEINE 
Alas ! that I have to own that cousin. Where- 
ever he goes treachery and murder follow in his 
track. What of him ? ( With a tone of anxious 
terror^ 

MICHEL 
The Captain has been told that Mehee has left 
Paris on a secret mission hither. 

MADELEINE 
He would not dare ! 

MICHEL 
He does not want for daiingof that kind. He 
has been an agent of the Emigres and betrayed 
them. He has been agent for the French Republic 



236 THE SPY [SCENE 

and betrayed them too. He corresponds with the 
English Government and sells their secrets to the 

French. 

MADELEINE 
Why should he come here ? 

MICHEL 
To get hold of the Captain's intentions ; to in- 
veigle the Chouans to their destruction ; to learn 
where the army of the Emigres will land. There is 
no want of business, Mam'zelle, for your cousin 
to do. 

MADELEINE 

Well — he will be discovered — and then 

MICHEL 
Short work. His back to a wall. A platoon 
in front of him. 

MEN {all jump to their feet) 
The Captain ! The Captain ! 

Enter Georges Cadoudal, about five-and- twenty, 
military bearing and dress, carrying cutlass and 
pistols. Looks round, salutes the men. 

CADOUDAL 
Good. There are more outside. The village 
has done well. 



I 



I] THE SPY 237 

MICHEL 

Not another man left in it, Captain. 

CADOUDAL 
All men of Lokmariaker ! 

LANDLADY 
I know them all, Captain. Good men and true 
— except that white-faced man in the corner. I 
don't know him. 

MICHEL 
Ah ! Come out then, you white-face. 
[Steps over and lays hands on his shoulder and 
brings him before Captain. 

CADOUDAL 
So, sir, who are you } 

LANDLADY 
He says that he is named Jacques Candenac 
from Sarziau. There is no one of that name 
known at Sarziam 

CADOUDAL 
Indeed ! 

LANDLADY 
Says he is a smuggler. They are all smugglers 
in Sarziau, but there is no Jacques Candenac 
among them. 



23^ THE SPY [scene 

CADOUDAL 
Show him to the men, Michel. See if they 
know him. 

[ They all look at him and shake their heads. 

CADOUDAL {in front with MADELEINE) 
My dear, all promises well. There will be a 
descent in a week or two by the English fleet with 
five thousand emigres. This time we shall give 
a final account of the Blues. Hoche will find the 
Chouans too much for him. 

MADELEINE 
Five thousand Emigres ! Oh ! It is splendid. 

CADOUDAL 
But, sweetheart, there is treachery abroad. At 
every point I learn that troops are gathered in 
numbers that show design, not accident. If I could 
only lay my hands on the traitors 1 

MADELEINE 
Courage, Georges. A traitor is always found 
sooner or later. 

CADOUDAL 
Meantime, the mischief may be done. 
\Outside : bugle and roll of a drum. Men all \ 
jump up^ take muskets and go out. Voice 
of command heard. 



I] THE SPY 239 

MICHEL {bringing MfiHJ^E to the Captain by the 
shoulder) 
No one knows him, Captain. 

CADOUDAL {to M£H^.E) 
Speak — you 

m£h£e 
For your own ear, Captain. 
[ They come down the stage to the front. LAN D- 
LAD Y goes on with her knitting. ANNETTE 
goes on with her shredding. MADELEINE 
andMlQYi'El. up stage. 

CADOUDAL 
For my own ear ? Well — speak, 

m£h£e 
What I said about Sarziau was not true. I am 
on secret service from the British Government. I 
bear credentials signed by Pitt. I am here to take 
over the Channel to-night any message or letter 
you may wish to send. 

CADOUDAL 
Indeed ! Credentials from Pitt ? Do you 
know. Sir, it is a vastly dangerous thing to carry 
about credentials from Pitt in this country ? 



240 THE SPY [scene 

m£h£e 
It is also a vastly dangerous thing to lead half- 
armed rebels against the Republic. Since it is for 
the Cause — why, we do not think of the danger. 

CADOUDAL 
Well — let me see your credentials. 

m£h£e 
They are here. {^Produces leathern pocket-book 
— takes out letter^ Read what is written, Captain. 

CADOUDAL {reads) 
* To those whom it may concern. — The bearer, 
Andr6 Bernard, is a safe and trustworthy person. 
Letters and information trusted to him are taken 
over the Channel as opportunity may serve. — PiTT.' 
Ah ! Signed, Pitt ! Signed, Pitt ! This is very 
strange. 

MfiH^E 
Signed, Pitt. What more do you want ? 

CADOUDAL 
Madeleine — Michel — help me to judge this' 
case. {They step down the stage.) This man 
shows me a letter of recommendation signed hy%. 
none other than Pitt. Pitt himself! For a com-J 
mon sailor named Andre Bernard, otherwise callecj 
Jacques Candenac. Wonderful 






I] THE SPY 241 

MADELEINE {looking into his face) 
I seem to remember him. I have seen that 
face before. 

CADOUDAL 
When I was in London I saw the Great Man's 
secretary. I asked him about secret agents. He 
told me that I must find them for myself; that 
since the double-dyed treachery of one M^hee de 
la Touche 

MADELEINE 

My cousin 1 

CADOUDAL 

Ah 1 Since that he would trust no Frenchman 
again. There, also, I saw certain documents which 
were known to me ; they were signed by Pitt. 
Well, the signature that I saw is not this signature. 
This letter is a forgery. 

MICHEL {bugle ^ drum^ and word of command without) 
In that case — the men are ready, Captain, as 

you hear. 

m£h£e 
The paper is as I received it. I came here, 

Captain, to say that I cross the Channel to-night, 

and to ask for letters. Why distrust me ? 

CADOUDAL 
For a very simple reason. You are proved a 

R 



242 THE SPY [SCENE 

liar. Take him out, Michel. Let him be shot at 
once. You can search him afterwards. 

[Michel seizes him roughly by the coat-collar. 
Cap and wig fall off, disclose a light-haired 



MADELEINE {shrieks and clasps her hands) 
My cousin ! Mehee de la Touche ! Oh ! 
Villain! 

MICHEL 
The murderer of September ! The companion 
of Danton. The friend of that butcher Tallien ! 
Ah! 

m£h£e {J.ooks round helplessly) 
Madeleine 

MICHEL {drags him to the door) 
Come, traitor and murderer. 

MADELEINE 

Georges ! he must die, of course. , . . And yet 
, . . yet . . yet he is my cousin, and in Brittany 
cousinship counts for much. 

CADOUDAL (to Michel) 
Stay ! Let him go. Send him across the 
Morbihan to Sarziau. [To Mto£E.) You— villain ! 
you — traitor ! For the sake of Madeleine, your 



ij THE SPY 243 

cousin, that noble soul whom I have dared to love 
I spare you. Live to fill up the cup of your 
iniquities. Go ! I give you life. 



m£h£e {walks to door and turns) 
A gift which I will never forget. {Aside) Nor 
forgive. 

[Madeleine sinks on her knees and clasps the 
hand of GEORGES. 

CURTAIN 



Scene II. — The same. Six months later. LAND- 
LADY in her chair knitting as before. An NETTE 
with a white apron shredding vegetables in an 
earthenware dish. 

LANDLADY 
Annette, go pick the sorrel for the soup. {Exit 
Annette.) A dull time. All the men out fight- 
ing ; and, alack ! many of them killed ; the village 
emptied. When will it end } They are lions, our 
brave fellows. But — {sighs) — when and how will it 
end ? From this corner we are fighting all France. 
Well, well. The Captain is everywhere ; he sees to 
everything, he directs everything ; he wins all the 
victories. 



244 THE SPY [SCENE 

Enter ANNETTE, her apron full of sorrel 

ANNETTE 

Madame ! There is news. There has been a 
battle. Oh ! close by — not more than five miles 
away. I heard the cannon firing. 



LANDLADY 
How do you know .'' Who told you ? 

ANNETTE 
Little Jean Kerdac. He was among the 
soldiers. When the fighting began he lay down 
behind a big stone — a menhir — and looked on. 
He says it was beautiful to see the Chouans drive 
back the Blues. When they were driven out of the 
wood he came home. 



LANDLADY 
Two or more such victories and we shall have 
the English with us. 



ANNETTE ^ 

Would it might be so ! 

\Goes on with preparations for soup. 



f 



II] TPIE SPY 245 

Enter Madeleine joyous^ excited ; she has a 
small gun in her hand. 



MADELEINE 
Have you heard the news, Madame ? We have 
defeated them and put them to flight. 

LANDLADY 
How do you know, Mam'zelle? 



MADELEINE 
I was there. I have just returned from the 
field of battle. 



LANDLADY 
You, Mam'zelle ? Returned from the field of 
battle ? 

MADELEINE 
Why not ? Where our brave Bretons are, there 
would I be too ! I take good care of myself. 
Like a coward woman I hide behind the stones. 
But I watch the battle. Oh ! They are scattered ; 
they are flying. My Georges is splendid. The 
bullets strike men down to right and left of him ; 
but Georges they never touch. He is the Captain 
and the Conqueror. Why, he will sweep France 
through from end to end. 



246 THE SPY [SCENE 

Enter MICHEL LE ROBINfi. He is wounded, and 
totters. He has a torn jacket ; his hand is 
tied up with a handkerchief. 

LANDLADY {springs to her feet) 
M'sieu Michel 1 

MADELEINE {runs to his assistance^ 
Michel ! {She helps him to a chair or bench and 
opens his collar^ Quick, Annette, water ! Quick ! 
And cognac ! Annette, and a pillow. Quick ! 
{She bends over him. He opens his eyes. His head 
falls back upon the pillow?) 

LANDLADY 

He has fainted. 

MADELEINE {puts her hand on his hearty 

The heart beats still. Annette, the cognac. 

{Pours a little between his lips. He opens his eyes. 

Madeleine lifts his hand?) Michel, brother, look 

up — you are better ? \ 

MICHEL 
No, Madeleine, I am worse. I had something 
to say. 

MADELEINE 
What is it, Michel } Do not mind it now. 
Think of yourself. 



I 



II] THE SPY 247 

MICHEL 
I had something to say. What was it ? I forget 
it. It was important. I have lost it. Madeleine, 
I am dying. Bring the Cure. I must confess. 

MADELEINE 
The Cure is with the army. Oh ! What shall 
we do ? 

ANNETTE 
There is a Dominican Friar — a Black Friar — 
who has been about the village for two or three 
days. I will bring him. [Exit Annette. 

Enter Cadoudau 

MADELEINE 
Georges ! 

CADOUDAL 

Where is Michel ? I heard (Bending over 

him with back to audience^ slight pantomime of ex- 
amination. Turning round to others^ It is but too 
true. It is internal bleeding. Nothing can save 
him. 

MADELEINE 

Georges, what has happened ? 

CADOUDAL 
The enemy are in full flight. They are dis- 



248 THE SPY [SCENE 

posed of for a week. What do I say ? For ever ! 
Michel, my dear comrade, is this your fate ? 



MICHEL 
Everyone in his turn, Captain. Who could ask 
for a better way ? 

CADOUDAL {kneels beside him) 
True comrade ! loyal friend ! faithful soldier ! 
There is no better way. Else, in the name of 
Heaven ! how could one see these things daily and 
yet go on ? Is there aught I can do for you ? 

MICHEL {faintly) 
Nothing — except to send for the priest. 

Enter ANNETTE with M£h£e disguised as a 
Dominican^ with black hood over his head — 
leans over MiCHEL. MADELEINE kneels and 
supports Michel's head. One hears the murmur 
of the confession, ^ Mea culpa: mea culpa: 
mea maxima culpa! These words grow fainter. 
Pretended TfOMl^lCA.^ murmurs in ear of dying 
man. Cadoudal, Annette, a^id Landlady 
stand with folded hands and bowed heads. The 
confession is finished. The Friar crosses the 
forehead of the dying man. Mapei^EINE lays 



\ 



II] THE SPY 249 

his head upon a pillow. Then all gather round 

him. The DOMINICAN is in the doorway looking 

out 

MADELEINE 

He is not dead, Georges ! His heart was 
beating but a moment ago, and his voice was 
strong to ask for the priest. He may yet recover. 

CADOUDAL 
No — not with that look in his face. I have 
seen that look too often. Madeleine, it means but 
one thing. 

MICHEL (lifts his head) 

Lift me up, Madeleine. So Let me look 

once more through the door. There is the sea of 
Morbihan ; there are the islands where we sailed 
and played. The sunshine is on them always — I 
think — Ah ! I shall carry with me — wherever I 
go — the memory of Morbihan — there can be no 
better place. Farewell, my Captain, my Captain. 
Stay! — {starts) — there was one thing I had to tell 
you. Captain ! There is some new treachery. 
The Blues are upon you ! 

CADOUDAL 
Where? How? 

MICHEL 
Here. In the yilla^e. They are on yo\\— 



250 THE SPY [SCENE 

even now. Captain ! I have done my duty. 
Long live the King ! 

\Falls back and dies. The DOMINICAN steps 
outside and blows a whistle, 

MADELEINE 
He is dead. Fly, Georges ! Fly ! He told you 
the Blues were on you. 

CADOUDAL j 

The Blues ! Why, I have scattered them to 
the winds. There must indeed be treachery afoot ! 

Enter company of Soldiers , foi/owed by the 

Dominican (3:?z<3^<^;^ Officer. j 

DOMINICAN 
There is your prisoner. The other one is dead. 
[Throws back his hood, shows himself as Meh£e DE 
LA TOUCHE.) I promised you. Captain^ that I 
would never forget ! 

MADELEINE 
Mehee de la Touche ! 

OFFICER 
Surrender, Citizen Georges. 



CADOUDAL {giving up his sword) 
I have no choice. I surrender. 



I 



II] THE SPY 251 

MADELEINE {while their attention is occupied thus 
draws a pistol from her belt) 
They shall take me with you, Georges ! And 
for you, good cousin, you shall not go without 
the wage you so well merit ! 

[Shoots M£h£e, who falls dead on the spot. 
Amid the general start MADELEINE 
puts her hand in Cadoudal'S. 

CURTAIN 



Note. — If the lady who plays Madeleine objects to firearms 
she can draw a dirk, conceal it^ get closer to M^h^e while Georges 
surrenderSf and stab M£HfiE. 



252 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Lord Avenel, in shooting dress, aged twenty-seven. 
Lady Avenel, newly married, aged twenty. 
Charlie Vernon, Second Lieutenant, First Royal Gloucesters, ' 
aged twenty-one. 

Martin, the Butler. 

Scene — Breakfast room in LORD Avenel's country 
house. Butler discovered. He arranges chairs^ 
smooths the table-cloth, puts newspaper at the back 
<?/"LORD Avenel's^>^<22>. Takes bundle of letters 
from a tray on the sideboard and lays them before 
three chairs. 

BUTLER 
Here's the lot, and a pretty lot it is. Glad I'm 
not his lordship's secretary. Answering all these 
letters every day would kill me in a week. Give 
me my pantry and the silver, and I ask no better 
lot. For his lordship — one, two — (r^^/;?/^)— twenty- 
four letters, with a parcel. ( Takes up small parcel 



I 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 253 

tied with red tape and sealed^ looks at ity feels ity 
weighs it^ presses it?) Marked * Immediate.' Looks 
like as if it had paper inside of it. More reading — 
more writing. That pore young man, the secretary. 
Some folks are greatly to be pitied. Now my 
lady's letters. One, two — here's a scented one — 
something sweet from another lady — great ladies 
love each other a vast deal more than my friends 
in the servants' hall. Here's a tradesman's bill, I 
take it. Her ladyship isn't in a hurry to pay her 
bills ; but give her time, give her time. What's the 
use of being a countess if you can't get time } One, 
two — {counts^ — eleven letters, mostly invitations. 
Pleasure is a weary business. Give me my pantry 
and my silver. Hullo ! Here's a rummy start ! 
The last letter for my lady is just exactly in the 
same handwriting as the packet for my lord ! Odd, 
ain't it? {Compares them.) Great square hand — 
same s's ; same t's ; same — well, it doesn't matter 
to me. Here's the captain's letters — one — that's a 
woman's handwriting. Well to be sure, the captain 
do have a way with him. Another letter — and 
another — and — dash my buttons ! If this isn't the 
rummiest go 1 Why — this letter is written in the 
same handwriting as the other two. It must be a 
hospital letter — or a church restoring — or a per- 
manent incapable — well — well. {Lays down letters 
before Lieutenant's chair^ 



254 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 
Enter Charlie Vernon. 

VERNON 
Her ladyship down yet ? 

BUTLER 
Not yet, Sir. Your letters, Sir. [Puts them on 
tray and hands them. LlEUT. Vernon snatches 
the letter whose handwriting has astonished the 
butler., puts the rest in his pockety and tea7's this one 
open and reads hurriedly^ 

VERNON 
The devil ! 

BUTLER {mechanically) 

Yes, Sir ! 

\_He then^ with impassive face^ goes on 
smoothing table-cloth^ setting knives 
and forks in proper places^ pokes fire. 
Vernon walks up and down the 
room with vexation. BUTLER walks 
round the table critically. Exit. 

VERNON {reads the letter again) 

* Since you have given me no answer to my 

first letter and none to my second, I shall prove to 

you that I can bite as well as bark. I have sent 

all the love letters that you have written to Lady 



I 



1 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 255 

Avenel to his lordship. You will have an oppor- 
tunity of explaining things to him — I understand 
that you are his guest. This will make the business 
all the pleasanter for you.' It is indeed a pleasant 
affair. Why the devil didn't Isabel destroy the 
confounded letters when we broke it off? This 
person is a woman, clearly ; an uneducated woman 
— where is Isabel ? Why doesn't she come down 
in good time for breakfast ? Oh ! confound the 
thing! What am I to say? There's no date, I 
know there's no date on any of the letters. He 
will think they were written yesterday 1 

En^er Lady Avenel. 

LADY A. 
Good morning, Charlie. Have you got any 
letters this morning — anything from Clarice ? 

VERNON 
I haven't looked— yet. I've had something 
else to think about. 

LADY A. 

What is the matter, my dear boy ? You look 
worried. 

VERNON 

I am more than worried. Look here, Isabel — 
you remember two years ago when I thought that 
you were in love with me 



256 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

LADY A. {coldly) 
Well ? This is hardly the place for such re- 
miniscences, is it ? 

VERNON 

No! — Yes! — I — know — but There were 

letters — that I wrote to you — a lot of letters 

LADY A. 
What about them ? I daresay there were — I 
remember, now, that there were. 

VERNON 

Where are they ? Did you burn them ? 

LADY A. 

Burn them ? Burn them ? I forget. No — I 
believe they are where they were then — in my old 
desk — in my boudoir. 

VERNON 
Suppose you look. 

LADY A. {opens davenport or desk on stage R. 

with key) 
They are gone I 

VERNON 

They are stolen. Do you know this hand- 
writing ? 

LADY A. 
It is a common, illiterate hand ; but I think it 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 257 

is the writing of a lady's maid whom I had to send 

away. 

VERNON 
Read the letter. 

LADY A. {reads it) 
Charlie ! Good heavens ! What does the 
wretched woman mean ? 

VERNON 
None of my letters have dates. She believes, 
and she hopes, that Avenel will suppose that they 
were written yesterday. {Looks casually at Isabel s 
cover where her letters are lying?) See ! Here is a 
letter for you in the same writing. {Hands it.) 

LADY A. {reads) 
* Madam, I have sent your lover's letters to your 
husband for him to read. I hope you will all three 
be pleased.' 

VERNON 
Where is your husband ? 

LADY A. 
I suppose he will be down soon. What are we 
to do ? 

VERNON 

There isn't much left to do, is there ? I must 

S 



258 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

explain the whole truth — secret engagement ; 
found it to be a mistake — if he will only believe it. 
How long is it since the last letter was written ? 

LADY A. 

Two years. A year before I was married. 

VERNON 
They were rather strongly worded letters, Isabel 
— I remember that I thought myself madly in love 
with you. It was because I had known you from 
childhood, I suppose. 

LADY A. 

I suppose so. Otherwise it would have been 
impossible, of course. 

VERNON 
Isabel ! As if I could mean that. But it was a 
mistake, wasn't it ? And I've been in love several 
times since then. 

LADY A. 
And I've been in love once — and only once — 
in my life — and it wasn't with you, my dear boy. 

VERNON 
And now we've got to pay the piper. Avenel 
is a fiery man, Isabel — and perhaps he's a jealous 
man. It's all very well to explain, but it's a thing 
that may rankle. 



I 



1 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 259 

LADY A. 
I have been wrong, Charlie. It is all my fault. 
I ought to have explained long ago. But — I — I 
was ashamed. I could not bear to think that even 
a mistake had been made. I ought to have de- 
stroyed the letters and told him everything. Then 
if he chose — he might have — sent me away. Oh ! 
I was so foolish — so foolish {Sinks into chair.) 

VERNON 
It was a thousand pities, Isabel, that you did not 
burn those letters. 

LADY A. 
I forgot them. They were lying in my desk. 
I was so happy that I forgot them. I never looked 
at them. What do they matter to me — now ? 

VERNON 
Nothing— nothing — as you say. Yet — a thou- 
sand pities 

LADY A. 

And then that detestable woman found them 
and — and — I wonder if my husband has got those 

letters yet. 

VERNON 
There are his letters of the day — {turns them 
over) — and, Isabel, there is her handwriting. 
{Takes up packet) See! — the packet. There are the 
letters I 

S2 



26o THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

LADY A. 
Let me see. ( Takes the packet?) Yes - It is her 
handwriting. There is no doubt. This packet 
contains the letters. 

\She holds the packet in her hand. They 
look at each other in silence, 

VERNON 
What is in your thoughts, Isabel ? 

LADY A. 

Tell me. 

VERNON 
If this packet were dropped in the fire — if it 
were taken quietly away — in my pocket 

LADY A. 
Hush! Charlie. Hush! 

VERNON {takes the packet out of her hands) 
These letters are mine, really, because I wrote 
them. Let me have them back, Isabel ; then no 
harm can possibly come to you. It is for your own 
sake, Isabel. 

LADY A. 
No — no. 

VERNON 

They are stolen letters They were stolen from 



I 



i 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 261 

your desk by that accursed woman, your maid. Put 
them back in your desk— and in the fire afterwards. 
{Offers her the packet^ 

LADY A. 
No — no. That was my temptation — those were 
my most unworthy thoughts. Charlie — my old 
friend — my old playfellow — my brother — would 
you help me to deceive my husband again ? 

VERNON 

You have never yet deceived him. 

LADY A. 
I have not told him of things that he ought to 
have known. And now he is to find out — to be 
told by a woman who will give the thing all the 
colouring that belongs to her depraved imagination. 
I have deceived him. But I will not deceive him 
any more. 

VERNON 
Take the packet, then. Put it among his letters. 
Then farewell to your happiness, Isabel. Think ! 
A revengeful woman seeks to injure you in that 
point which you will feel the most keenly — the point 
of honour. All you have to do is to put that packet 
in the fire. 



262 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

LADY A. 

I will not do it. Whatever happens, I will not 
deceive my husband again. 

Enter MARTIN. 

BUTLER 
My lord have sent for his letters, my lady. By 
you' leave, my lady. {^Sweeps them on to a tray — 
looks about.) I beg your ladyship's pardon, there 
was a sealed packet. I noticed it among the letters. 
I don't see it here. 

LADY A. 
It is this packet that you are looking for. 

BUTLER 
Thank you, my lady. (^Stoops and picks it up,) 
{Aside) It's the packet as has the same writing as 
her letters and his. [Exit Martin. 

VERNON 
Well. The die is cast. He has now got the 
letters. 

LADY A. 
Yes. He has got the letters. He will learn for 
the first time that his wife has received love letters 
from another man. 



I 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 263 

VERNON 
A pleasing discovery. What shall you do, 
Isabel ? 

LADY A. 
I shall tell him everything — confess all that 
there is to confess. 

VERNON 
Come — there isn't much, really. Boy and girl 
business, at the worst. We thought we were in love 
and we wrote burning letters — pity they were 
quite so burning — pity women can't burn things 
{pettishly). Heavens ! What a heap of mischief 
would be saved if women would burn things. 

LADY A. 
Since I was so foolish as not to burn these 
letters, I have a pleasant quarter of an hour before 
me. Now, Charlie, it's no good getting savage. 
Leave me for a few minutes with my husband. Go 
away. You have got a telegram to send, or a letter 
to post, or something. You have gone to the sta- 
bles. Go now. Come back in a quarter of an hour. 



VERNON 

And then ? 

LADY A. 
You will be guided by circumstances. Above 



264 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

all things, remember that you have nothing to con- 
ceal and nothing to be ashamed of. 

VERNON 
And you, Isabel — have you nothing to be afraid 
of? But you know Avenel, and so I leave you. 

\_Exit Vernon. 

LADY A. 
Nothing to be afraid of ? Yes — everything. He 
will learn that the girl he thought innocent of so 
much as a flirtation had received love letters — 
written love letters — with another man — had gone 
through all the business before he appeared upon 
the scene at all. Nothing to be afraid of? Every- 
thing — everything. If I lose his respect, what will 
remain of his love ? Love dies without respect. 
To lose his love — to become that miserable thing, 
a wife unloved — it is a hard price to pay for a girl's 
mistake. And I might have destroyed the packet ! 
No — no — never ! It was a cowardly thought — a 
base and unworthy thought. Ah ! Here he comes. 

Enter LORD AvENEL. 

LORD A. 
Well, my darling, what about breakfast ? 
(Kisses her kindly. Throws his letters^ including the 
packety carelessly on the table.) Where is Vernon ? 



\ 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 265 

LADY A. 
He was here five minutes ago. Gone to the 
stables, I believe — to see about his horse after 
yesterday's fall. You shall have breakfast at once. 
{Rings bell.) We needn't wait for Charlie. 

Enter Martin with dishes^ places them on table. 
They sit down. MARTIN takes off covers. 

LADY A. 
You need not stay, Martin. I will wait on his 
lordship. \_Exit Martin. 

LORD A. 
You mean, my dear, that I am to wait upon 
you. But why send away the faithful Martin ? 

LADY A. 
He can come back presently, perhaps. I have 
something to say to you, first, Avenel — in his 
absence. 

LORD A. 
Is it something very terrible ? You look, my 
dear, as grave as Rhadamanthus. 

LADY A. 
It is a confession. Every confession is terrible. 

LORD A. 
Then, my dear, don't make it. {fiets up and 



266 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

leans over her.) What is the matter, Isabel ? You 
look quite pale and anxious. 

LADY A. 
It is the confession 

LORD A. 
Then, I say, don't make it. I don't want your 
confessions, dear child. 

LADY A. 
No, but you must hear me. Sit down and listen. 

LORD A. 
Well — you have your own way always. Is 
Vernon to hear the confession as well ? 

LADY A. 
You shall answer that question for yourself. Oh ! 
Avenel — how shall I begin ? 

LORD A. 
Better begin somewhere near the end — so as to 
get it over. That's the best way, always, with con- 
fessions. Come, Isabel, my dear, one would think 
you had committed some kind of crime. 

LADY A. 

I believe it is a crime. But you shall hear. It's 
the confession of a situation. 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 267 

LORD A. 
A situation ? Well — let us have the situation. 
In a play, they tell me, the situation is every- 
thing. 

LADY A. 
There was once a boy, there was once a girl 

LORD A. 
Not uncommon. The world is very much 
made that way. 

LADY A. 
Oh ! Avenel, believe me — it is very, very 
serious. 

LORD A. 
Go on, dear — with the boy and girl. 

LADY A. 
They were very much together when they were 
children. When the boy went to school they wrote 

to each other 

LORD A. 
Dear me ! This is very rare and wonderful. 

LADY A. 
They continued to write to each other • 

LORD A. 
Did they, really ? 



268 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

LADY A. 
Please do not mock. It is very, very serious. 
How can I go on ? Well, they wrote to each 
other after the girl had come out, when they 
ought not, you know. It was a secret engagement 
— because they thought they were in love with each 
other. 

LORD A. 
Lots of young people write to each other 
because they fancy they are in love. It is a common 
hallucination. It is not generally known, but half 
the private houses in this country are private lunatic 
asylums in consequence. 



LADY A. 
Avenel — I am so miserable, and you will not 
be serious. , 

LORD A. 
Let me have some breakfast, my dearest wife, 
and then I will listen. Sorry Charlie is not here 
while the kedgeree is hot. Will you have some ? — 
or an egg? Nothing? A little buttered toast 
— there, now — silence for a brief space. (^Eats 
breakfast^ 

(Lady A. lays her head in her hand and sighs.) 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 269 

LORD A. {looks Up) 
Dear child — {finds and takes her hand and 
kisses if) — you don't look well enough to go on 
with the story. Suppose I finish it for you. Yes, I 
am sure I can finish that story. They wrote to 
each other, this pair of semi-attached lovers, for 
some time. Their letters became ardent, as 
becomes young lovers. As for the young gen- 
tleman, Romeo himself was not a more extra- 
vagant lover. Of course I have never seen his 
letters, but I can quite understand them — because, 
you see, my dear, this girl was the most lovely girl 
in the world, and the sweetest and the best — quite 
the best— my ^^2>x —{kisses her hand again) — quite 
the best, I say. {Rises and kisses her forehead.) 



LADY A. 
Guy — what do you mean ? 

LORD A. 
I am finishing the story for you. 



LADY A. 
But — but — that is my story, except that the 
girl was nothing of the kind. She was capable, 
though she didn't know it, of the vilest deception. 



270 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

LORD A. 
Don't interrupt, if you please, Lady Avenel. 
Let me see. — Oh ! yes — they went on writing to 
each other until somehow- some day — I really 
don't know how, they came to the conclusion that 
they had only been playing at love and they didn't 
mean it in the least. 

LADY A. 
It was his exaggeration. He protested too 
much — so that the girl began to ask herself — and 

she found out 

LORD A. 
Yes — she found out ? Come, I've given you a 
good lift — now you can go on. 

LADY A. 
She found out that I — I mean she did not love 
the young man at all. And I — I mean she — told 
him she had made a great mistake and I begged 

his forgiveness 

LORD A. 
Well ? 

LADY A. 
And he wrote back to say that he too had made 
a mistake, and we — I mean — they were to remain 
good friends always and nothing more. — So that 
was all over. 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 271 

LORD A. 
Happily. All over — else what would have 
happened to the other man ? 

LADY A. 
What do you mean ? 

LORD A. 
Well : there was another man, wasn't there ? 

LADY A. 
Ye — yes — there was another man. 

LORD A. 
You see — I am always right. 

LADY A. 
She was ashamed of this stupid love passage — 
and she told him nothing about it. 

LORD A. 
After all, a boy and girl business. What did it 
matter .'' 

LADY A. 
She ought to have told him. Not to tell him 
was cowardice. He thought the girl was fresh and 
innocent and had never heard any words of love. 



2/2 THE WIPES CONFESSION 

LORD A. 
You think he had that opinion ? 

LADY A. 
I am sure of it 

LORD A. 

I find I must finish the story, my child, after all. 

It is your turn to listen. This girl did not tell her 

real lover that she had made a mistake. But. as it 

was off with the old love before it was on with the 

new, and as there never had been more than a boy 

and girl fancy, there was no reason why she should 

tell him anything unless she chose. Her new lover 

neither expected nor desired any such confession. 

He knew that he had the affections of the girl ; he 

trusted her altogether ; and if he had known this 

thing it would not have made him trust her the 

less 

LADY A. 

But she ought to have told him. 

LORD A. 
I do not think so. But that's a doubtful point 
We will argue it another time. Well— they were 
married — these two — and they lived happy ever 
afterwards. 

LADY A. 
No — they cannot 



I 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 273 

LORD A. 
Ever afterwards, I tell you. Meantime, the girl 
had left some of the letters in her desk ; forgotten 
them, I suppose. These were found by a maid 
whom she dismissed, and stolen. 

LADY A. {springs to her feet) 
Avenel — you know everything, then ! 

LORD A. 
This woman took the letters and, I suppose — 
one knows her kind— she tried to get money on them 
from the man who had written them. She failed ; 
she then threatened to play her last card. She wrote 
to the girl's husband and offered to sell him the 
letters. When she got no answer she waited 
awhile ; then tried once more to extort money from 
the writer of the letters, and when that failed, she 
sent them to the girl's husband. Is that your story, 
Isabel ? 

LADY A. 
Yes— yes — yes ! But — how did you know about 
Charlie ? 

LORD A. 

My dear, do you suppose that when people in 

our position get engaged there are not always' other 

people ready to scrape up anything against either 

of us ? I was told of your boy-and-girl business 

T 



274 THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 

before our engagement had been made known four 
and twenty hours. Yet you both thought it was a 
secret. My child, everybody knew. 

LADY A. 

Oh ! and I was always afraid to tell you. 

LORD A. 

My dear, I have known it all along, and as for 
these letters {takes up packet) — Yes — this is the 
handwriting of the creature. Could you believe, my 
dear, that I would stoop to read them ? Could you 
really think that your husband had so little respect 
for you that he would condescend to open such a 
packet ? 

LADY A. 

You are too noble ! Say only that you for- 
give me. 

LORD A. 

No. For that would mean that my wife had 
done something blameworthy. Forgive you, Isabel ? 
( Takes both her hands and kisses her) Never. I can 
never forgive you — -believe me. (LADY A YEN EL 
sinks into a chair and covers her face with her hands.) 

Enter Vernon — looks around — hesitates. 

LORD A. 
Ah ! Charlie ! My wife and I were just talking 



I 



THE WIFE'S CONFESSION 275 

about you, and wondering what you would advise 
in a particular matter. But the fact is, I have made 

up my mind 

VERNON 

As to what ? 

LORD A. 

Why, as to a certain packet of letters which 
some one has tried to misuse. We need not talk 
about them. Here they are, and [throwing them 
into fire) there they are. And now for breakfast. 

LADY A. {aside) 
Guy — I adore you. 

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